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Carpal Tunnel
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Carpal Tunnel
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Had to dredge this old thread up when I saw it mentioned to offer this tidbit: We had in our region, until he passed recently, an eccentric monied man who proclaimed himself a poet and wrote below the 4th grade level (honestly!...my 9 year old niece was writing more sophisticated work than this guy!). AND he had the audacity to buy ad space in the local trade papers to publish his work on a weekly basis...he shall remain unnamed. But, here, courtesy of this quirky quack, is what I believe to be the all-time worse opening line (or close to it) in the history of English poetry...from a poem of his about a certain type of sailing vessel. Ready? Here it is: Dread not dreadnought How's that for poetic barf, folks?...and he misspelled the former suffix as " -naught" as well!  
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Carpal Tunnel
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Carpal Tunnel
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It's a shame we don't have any full examples of Vogon poetry ...
The idiot also known as Capfka ...
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Joined: Jun 2000
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addict
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addict
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'Is a caterpillar ticklish? It's long been my belief That he giggles as he wriggles Across a hairy leaf.' I would like to see this animated for a children's show.
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Carpal Tunnel
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Carpal Tunnel
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Vogon, Capital Kiwi?...what, or who, is that? 
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Carpal Tunnel
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Carpal Tunnel
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Vogon, Capital Kiwi?...what, or who, is that?
A cue I am incapable of resisiting. From The Hitch-Hiker's Guide to the Galaxy
Vogon poetry is of course the third worst in the Universe.
The second worst is that of the Azagoths of Kria. During a
recitation by their Poet Master Grunthos the Flatulent of his
poem "Ode To A Small Lump of Green Putty I Found In My Armpit One
Midsummer Morning" four of his audience died of internal
haemorrhaging, and the President of the Mid-Galactic Arts
Nobbling Council survived by gnawing one of his own legs off.
Grunthos is reported to have been "disappointed" by the poem's
reception, and was about to embark on a reading of his twelve-
book epic entitled My Favourite Bathtime Gurgles when his own
major intestine, in a desperate attempt to save life and
civilization, leapt straight up through his neck and throttled
his brain.
The very worst poetry of all perished along with its creator
Paula Nancy Millstone Jennings of Greenbridge, Essex, England in
the destruction of the planet Earth.
The prisoners sat in Poetry Appreciation Chairs --strapped in.
Vogons suffered no illusions as to the regard their works were
generally held in. Their early attempts at composition had been
part of bludgeoning insistence that they be accepted as a
properly evolved and cultured race, but now the only thing that
kept them going was sheer bloodymindedness.
The Vogon began to read - a fetid little passage of his own
devising.
"Oh frettled gruntbuggly ..." he began. Spasms wracked Ford's
body - this was worse than ever he'd been prepared for.
"... thy micturations are to me | As plurdled gabbleblotchits on
a lurgid bee."
"Groop I implore thee," continued the merciless Vogon, "my
foonting turlingdromes."
His voice was rising to a horrible pitch of impassioned
stridency. "And hooptiously drangle me with crinkly
bindlewurdles,| Or I will rend thee in the gobberwarts with my
blurglecruncheon, see if I don't!"
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Carpal Tunnel
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The very worst poetry of all perished along with its creator Paula Nancy Millstone Jennings of Greenbridge, Essex, England in the destruction of the planet Earth.
a cue I am *even more* incapable of resisiting.
A Lovely Swan Poem
The dead swans lay in the stagnant pool
They lay, they rotted, they turned around occasionally
Bits of flesh dropped off them from time to time
and sank into the pool's mire
they also smelt a great deal
-- Paula Nancy Millstone Jennings
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Carpal Tunnel
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Thanks, tsuwm, where did you find that? I saw that poem on the TV series, but it's not in the books, or in the audio recordings I have, and I don't have the radio scripts, unfortunately. It is also interesting that he changed the name and sex of the poet. In the radio series, the poet is Paul Neil, not Paula Nancy. I read somewhere that the change was made for legal reasons, which I found amusing.
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Carpal Tunnel
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Carpal Tunnel
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Carpal Tunnel
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Yes, but tsuwm, you left out the really interesting bit:
This poem has a long and fabulous history. Douglas Adams' Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy, in its original radioplay version, contained the sentence, "The very worst poetry of all perished along with its creator Paul Neil Milne Johnstone of Redbridge, Essex, England in the destruction of the planet Earth." Mr. Johnstone was and is a very real and (we're told) very awful poet, and the powers that be wished that Mr. Adams decline to include his disparaging reference to same in future incarnations of HHGG. Hence, the invention of Paula Nancy Millstone Jennings. Still, the poem featured above did not appear in any of the HHGG books. No, Ms. Jennings' poetry is one of those special treats reserved for those few brave souls who obsessively watch the BBC's televisionization of HGG over and over to notice the "good bits" some clever bastard snuck into the background.
I read Johnstone's poem and wished that I'd either been tied down first, or that I could listen to Vogon poetry instead. It has such a light touch and a lilting way with words by comparison. Johnstone's poem falls into the same category (only slightly less euphonious) than the:
Roses are red, violets are blue.
Dead cats stink, and so do you.
of my childhood name-calling days.
The idiot also known as Capfka ...
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Pooh-Bah
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Pooh-Bah
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Mr Adams might have been unduly harsh to the Vogons, for apparently he never read any Julia Moore. Ms Moore lived in Grand Rapids, Michigan, from 1847 to 1920, and she spent a good part of her time crafting maudlin poetry. There is now an annual bad poetry contest in her name. Here is a sample: THE ORPHAN'S FRIEND Come all kind, good people, With sympathizing hearts, Come listen to a few kind words A friend to you imparts. Be kind to an orphan child, And always be its friend, You will be happy in this world, And will be to the end. Be kind to the motherless, Little motherless ones, For God will forever bless You in this world to come. No kind and loving mother To soothe their little brow, Be kind to them always, friends, They have no mother now. Be kind to the fatherless, Wherever you may find One little one that is friendless, I pray you all be kind. For it has no loving father, To speak with mild reproof, Or guide its youthful footsteps In honesty and truth. Be kind to the little orphans, They have no parents dear; Be kind to the little orphans, Speak to them words of cheer, Then they will always love you For kind and gentle words, Then God will ever bless you, For He says so in His word. For more (!), go to http://www.wmich.edu/english/txt/Moore/
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