Hunt / Walker William McGonagall

Collected Poems
1. Auflage 2011
ISBN: 978-0-85790-073-9
Verlag: Birlinn
Format: EPUB
Kopierschutz: 6 - ePub Watermark

E-Book, Englisch, 624 Seiten

William McGonagall was born in Edinburgh in 1830. His father was a poor hand-loom weaver, and his work took his family to Glasgow, then to Dundee. William attended school for eighteen months before the age of seven, and received no further formal education. Later, as a mill worker, he used to read books in the evening, taking great interest in Shakespeare's plays. In 1877, McGonagall suddenly discovered himself 'to be a poet'. Since then, thousands of people the world over have enjoyed the verse of Scotland's alternative national poet. This volume brings together the three famous collections - Poetic Gems, More Poetic Gems and Last Poetic Gems, and also includes an introduction by Chris Hunt, the webmaster of the McGonagall website www.mcgonagall-online.org.uk, indexes of poem titles and first lines, and features the first publication of McGonagall's only play, Jack o' the Cudgel, written in 1886 but not performed publicly until 2002.

Chris Hunt is Webmaster of the standard McGonagall website (www.mcgonagall-online.org.uk)

Autoren/Hrsg.

Hunt, Chris

Walker, Colin

Leseproben

INTRODUCTION
William McGonagall’s early life is shrouded in an uncertainty largely of his own making. The accounts he left us of his childhood contradict both each other and the few official records in which his name appears. He was probably born in 1825, the son of Irish immigrants Charles and Margaret McGonagall. An early census record gives his place of birth as Ireland, but the poet always claimed to have been born in Edinburgh. Be that as it may, the McGonagall family led a transitory existence, stopping in Maybole, Edinburgh and Glasgow before finally settling in the west end of Dundee. During this time, young William received perhaps a year’s formal schooling. Once established in Dundee, William was soon apprenticed to follow the trade of his father, that of a hand-loom weaver. In 1846, he married Jean King and the young couple set up home together, starting a family that would eventually number five sons and two daughters. This appears to have been a relatively prosperous period in McGonagall’s life. Although weaving was a job increasingly performed by machines, there were still jobs of a complexity that called for the skills of a weaver, and as a skilled worker McGonagall could command higher wages and status. His evenings were spent reading, and he developed a particular liking for the works of Shakespeare, committing to memory the parts of Richard III, Hamlet, Othello and Macbeth. It was in this latter role that he made his first stage appearance, and gave us the first glimpse, perhaps, of what was to come. A local theatrical impresario was persuaded, having received a substantial advance payment raised by McGonagall’s workmates, to allow him to take the part of Macbeth for a night in a professional production. Encouraged by the applause from an audience packed with his friends, McGonagall was convinced that his fellow cast members were envious of his success. When the final fight scene reached its climax, an exasperated Macduff was quite unable to get the Scottish king to die, and was eventually soundly beaten himself! McGonagall was carried in triumph from the theatre, having given Shakespeare’s tragedy a new ending. Scenes from Macbeth would remain a key part of his repertoire in later years, but would usually be played solo! And so McGonagall’s life progressed for many years, working, reading and entertaining friends. He was fast becoming a pillar of conventional Victorian respectability: a family man, a devout churchgoer and an ardent supporter of the temperance movement. The 1870s must have been a stressful time in the McGonagall household. Weaving work was becoming harder to find and Margaret, William’s oldest daughter, brought shame on the family by giving birth to an illegitimate son, who joined the rest of the seven children squeezed into the family home. Out of this chaos, perhaps even because of it, came the turning point in McGonagall’s life: The most startling incident in my life was the time I discovered myself to be a poet, which was in the year 1877 [ . . . ] I seemed to feel as it were a strange kind of feeling stealing over me, and remained so for about five minutes. A flame, as Lord Byron has said, seemed to kindle up my entire frame, along with a strong desire to write poetry; and I felt so happy, so happy, that I was inclined to dance, then I began to pace backwards and forwards in the room, trying to shake off all thought of writing poetry; but the more I tried, the more strong the sensation became. It was so strong, I imagined that a pen was in my right hand, and a voice crying, “Write! Write!” A poem was quickly penned in praise of local preacher George Gilfillan and delivered to a local newspaper. It must have been a slow news day, for the effort was duly published and McGonagall’s career as a poet had begun. More works followed fast: an ode to Shakespeare and one to Burns being early examples. McGonagall soon realised that, like many great artists, he would need a patron to support him while he wrote. Never one to do things by half measures, McGonagall went straight to the top: a letter seeking royal support was dispatched to Queen Victoria herself. A lesser man might have found her response – a polite thankyou letter from a royal functionary – disappointing. William, however, took this in his stride. If he had been thanked for a written collection of his works, how much more might he gain from a live performance? The queen was staying just fifty miles away in Balmoral Castle; he would walk through the mountains to see her. Alas, it was not to be. In what would become a pattern in McGonagall’s career, he made the whole trip only to fall at the last hurdle, which in this case was a sergeant at the gate of the castle who observed, “You’re not the queen’s poet! Lord Tennyson is the queen’s poet!” and sent him packing back to Dundee. It still gave him a story to tell the local papers, and he followed it up with poems on a wide range of subjects: local beauty spots, famous people, historical events, news stories at home – all could inspire a new poem. The newly penned ode would be printed onto broadsheets and McGonagall would tread the streets of Dundee selling them. In the evenings, when possible, he would secure a venue in which to give a live performance. Word soon spread about the poet’s abilities, and audiences would turn up with rotten food and other missiles, ready to show their appreciation. If this reception discouraged McGonagall, he never showed it. No praise was too faint for him to latch onto as proof of his powers, whilst any critics were given short shrift. McGonagall himself described one such incident in a piece he wrote (in the third person) for the Dundee People’s Journal entitled “Poet McGonagall’s Tour Through Fife”. During a trip to Dunfermline in 1879, [h]e called upon the Worthy Chief Templar who received him in a very unchristian manner, by telling him he could not assist him, and besides telling William his poetry was very bad; so William told him it was so very bad that Her Majesty had thanked him for what he had condemned, and left him, telling him at the same time he was an enemy and he would report him. Soon he was styling himself as Dundee’s official poet and attempting to take part in whatever ceremonies and parades might take place. He was rarely successful, but could still write a poem about the event and sell a few copies on the street. When not performing in Dundee, he would tour the local neighbourhood, doing shows for bemused villagers or visiting larger towns at the behest of some local literary group in search of fun. In 1880 he boarded a ship for London, seeking to make his fortune in what was then the biggest city in the world. Sadly, no theatre would have him and, as performing on the street was beneath his dignity, he was back in Dundee within the week. Seven years later he embarked on an even greater adventure, crossing the Atlantic to try his luck in New York. Alas, he was no more successful over there and was soon on the boat back to Scotland. Back home he secured a regular spot in a local circus, declaiming his verse as best he could to a crowd well-armed with eggs, flour, herrings, potatoes and stale bread. By now over sixty years of age, McGonagall would withstand this barrage for the princely sum of fifteen shillings a night. However, these riotous affairs attracted the attention of the city’s magistrates who placed a ban on further performances. It was a bitter blow to McGonagall. In response, he wrote: Fellow citizens of Bonnie Dundee Are ye aware how the magistrates have treated me? Nay, do not stare or make a fuss When I tell ye they have boycotted me from appearing in Royal Circus, Which in my opinion is a great shame, And a dishonour to the city’s name. He added a few highlights from his poetic oeuvre: Who was’t that immortalised the old and the new railway bridges of the Silvery Tay? Also the inauguration of the Hill of Balgay? Likewise the Silvery Tay rolling on its way? And the Newport Railway? Besides the Dundee Volunteers? Which met with their approbation and hearty cheers. And has it come to this in Bonnie Dundee? The magistrates remained unmoved, and William sloped off to Glasgow to attempt to ply his trade there. Once again he failed to thrive, and was back home after a month, although something good was about to come from his misfortune. In April 1890, his friends rallied round and organised the publication of a slender volume of Poetic Gems, selected from the works of Mr William McGonagall, with biographical sketch by the author, and portrait. Two hundred copies were sold immediately, and a copy inscribed by the author was lodged in Dundee’s Free Library. Book sales and more broadsheets allowed him just enough money to live, but appeals to the home secretary to overturn the magistrates’ ban fell on deaf ears, as did one for a pension paid from the civil list and backed by the signatures of hundreds of Dundee citizens. Sadly, not all Dundonians were so supportive and his continuing mistreatment in the city’s streets caused him, in 1893, to write an angry verse, threatening to leave the city. One newspaper archly observed, “When he discovers the full value of the circumstance that Dundee rhymes with 1893, he may be induced to reconsider his decision and stay for yet a year.” So it proved, with McGonagall finding new ways to earn a crust. He was an early pioneer of the celebrity endorsement. For a few lines in praise of a local tweed manufacturer, he was given a new suit of the stuff. Next, he tried his hand at...