No worries I.D. I sometimes forget how old that stuff is. I suppose people today are weaned on reruns of Get Smart rather than Chaplin. (Actually you shouldn’t miss either.)
Would you believe …
djm
This may get this thread moved to the private wing…
I’ve always thought Scott of the Antarctic was a Heroic Failure.
He’s very much an icon in the UK, and there are plenty of people who won’t hear a word said against him.
But he ignored a great deal of good advice, verifiable advice, especially from Oates, and led a lot of people to their deaths. And didn’t even get to the South Pole first.
To be honest, I don’t follow the adulation of Scott at all. As far as I’m concerned he should have been given a good slap early on.
Now we’ll hear from those who consider him a success…
Bloomfield wrote:
It hurts to fail and to be told so, but to be considered too weak for the truth is much more painful. YMMV.
At work the other day, I walked past another nurse who was starting an IV on a patient at our clinic. The patient had a hard bound book she was reading without enthusiasm. The nurse asked what she was reading. She showed the cover, which had ‘Gardener’ or Gardening in the title. She said her next door neighbor wrote it and gave it to her. It was the musings of this man about his gardening. The wife of the author is a best selling author, herself, so the patient surmised the publishing of this book was a favor to the successful author. She kind of rolled her eyes as she explained.
Now, I don’t know. Maybe it’s a great musing on gardening. I’ll never know. (I hope the author is not a whistle player who reads this board.)
Tony
His great genius was in the poverty of his work. If he can be a poet, then anybody can.
People, in general, assume that poetry is something that belongs to the educated, the one’s who have been to a university somewhere..those who have been “educated”.
Mac proved the point that anybody can throw a verse or three together.
Not always memorable, or of serious merit, but something that can be enjoyed by all.
As bad that it is..
Slan,
D. 
There’s this from the website Wombles posted the link to:
‘Sitting in his back room in Paton’s Lane, Dundee, wishing he was on holiday, [McGonagall] was seized with a desire to write poetry. He paced the room, saying, “But I know nothing about poetry.” Thus qualified he sat down and penned his first great work.’
I think he knew what he was about. He didn’t care if it was bad; that was the point of it, in fact:
‘On one famous occasion, he read this and other of his poems in a pub. “It was a great triumph. The publican told the waiter to throw a wet towel at me, which, of course, the waiter did and I received the wet towel, full force, in the face,” he wrote in his diary.’
A “great triumph”. There you have it. What’s not to get?
Simple as that.
I’m off for a pint.
Art does not live in a empty place.
I can’t spelll vacuam..vacum…vacaum.
F**k it, it’s the thought that counts
Slan,
D. 
I simply cannot believe that a thread about William McGonagall can go on for so long without quoting what is indisputably his finest poem. Here it is, in its glorious entirety. Read and savour.
Beautiful Railway Bridge of the Silv’ry Tay!
Alas! I am very sorry to say
That ninety lives have been taken away
On the last Sabbath day of 1879,
Which will be remember’d for a very long time.
'Twas about seven o’clock at night,
And the wind it blew with all its might,
And the rain came pouring down,
And the dark clouds seem’d to frown,
And the Demon of the air seem’d to say-
“I’ll blow down the Bridge of Tay.”
When the train left Edinburgh
The passengers’ hearts were light and felt no sorrow,
But Boreas blew a terrific gale,
Which made their hearts for to quail,
And many of the passengers with fear did say-
“I hope God will send us safe across the Bridge of Tay.”
But when the train came near to Wormit Bay,
Boreas he did loud and angry bray,
And shook the central girders of the Bridge of Tay
On the last Sabbath day of 1879,
Which will be remember’d for a very long time.
So the train sped on with all its might,
And Bonnie Dundee soon hove in sight,
And the passengers’ hearts felt light,
Thinking they would enjoy themselves on the New Year,
With their friends at home they lov’d most dear,
And wish them all a happy New Year.
So the train mov’d slowly along the Bridge of Tay,
Until it was about midway,
Then the central girders with a crash gave way,
And down went the train and passengers into the Tay!
The Storm Fiend did loudly bray,
Because ninety lives had been taken away,
On the last Sabbath day of 1879,
Which will be remember’d for a very long time.
As soon as the catastrophe came to be known
The alarm from mouth to mouth was blown,
And the cry rang out all o’er the town,
Good Heavens! the Tay Bridge is blown down,
And a passenger train from Edinburgh,
Which fill’d all the peoples hearts with sorrow,
And made them for to turn pale,
Because none of the passengers were sav’d to tell the tale
How the disaster happen’d on the last Sabbath day of 1879,
Which will be remember’d for a very long time.
It must have been an awful sight,
To witness in the dusky moonlight,
While the Storm Fiend did laugh, and angry did bray,
Along the Railway Bridge of the Silv’ry Tay,
Oh! ill-fated Bridge of the Silv’ry Tay,
I must now conclude my lay
By telling the world fearlessly without the least dismay,
That your central girders would not have given way,
At least many sensible men do say,
Had they been supported on each side with buttresses,
At least many sensible men confesses,
For the stronger we our houses do build,
The less chance we have of being killed.