by Gabe Weigle 7/29/2020

In your history classes you learn about the events in the past from the winner’s point of view.  In this blog I would like to celebrate the worst of the worst!  Below you will learn about four truly terrible British poets during the English Renaissance.  These gentlemen lacked talent but dared to be really bad at poetry.  Today everyone likes to show the perfect image of themselves, so it is nice to be able to celebrate our flaws and failures.  Cheers!

Romantic Period (1785-1832)

Alfred (Miller) Furnt was a god awful poet during the Romantic Period of poetry in England in the late 1700s.  He was known for using nonsense words to describe the world around him.  Since he was not successful in any way, his poems “Flappel,” “Rumpskyumsky,” and “Burfing” are not known by many nor should they be read.  Instead, here is an excerpt from Furnt’s diary to give you a glimpse of who the man was.

Diary Entry of Alfred Furnt:

The of love of my life, how can I put into words what you mean to me?  I look for the words in the stars, I look for the words in the sea, but alas they do not exist.  If I am to truly speak of what you mean to me, these words must come from one’s soul. So as I sit here upon this mountain top looking out over these sumptuous lands, my soul whispers one word: Furnt.

I’ll be honest, my darling, I am not sure what this word means, but it is you, my beauty. As I whisper the word furnt out to the shadows of the night, they paint me a picture of you looking out the window, sipping your tea, and smiling back at me.  We may be apart now, but I know these months will roll by faster than the way my heart beats every time I see you.  Oh! Furnt is not just a word, it is every part of you.  When the weather turns warm and you wear nice spring dress for the first time, furnt! When we share a glass of wine in the evening on a moonlit beach with the stars dancing your eyes, furnt!  When I hold your hands and look into your eyes the day we are to be wed, my dear, furnt! 

My beauty, you are humble and I know you can be made uncomfortable with such flattery, but I have changed my family name of Miller to Furnt to honor your true beauty.  I look forward to seeing you in the fall so we can continue our courtship. I will finally lay my eyes on my dear lady who is known in the diary of my soul simply as Furnt.

With all my love,

Alfred Furnt

The Neoclassical Period (1600–1785)

John Flyer was a disaster as a poet and as a person.  While most poets of the time looked to the Greek poets and philosophers for inspiration, Flyer was writing about his neighbor, Dirk.  Flyer wrote 3,000 poems complaining about Dirk and his family.  He wrote poems like “Your Kids Are Banshees and Should Be Drowned,” “Keep Your Horse Out of My Sight,” and “Dirk the Wanker and His Wildly Wankin’ Family.”  These bitter poems were a departure from most poets who spoke to themes much more grounded and realistic. Below is a poem Flyer wrote after he accused his neighbor of never returning an oil lamp he lent him.

Dirk the Turd

Dirk, I know you have it

Without it, my house is dark and I keep hitting my head on shit

You pretend not to know what I am talking about

Even fake falling asleep as I shout

Wake up you idiot give me my damn lamp

If you keep this up, I will pass out pamphlets to the village on how your wife is disgusting tramp!

I see it! There it is, behind you in your kitchen! I knew it was in your possession

Don’t you pants me! Your brut you are bigger than me, but you will suffer repercussions

I stand here pant-less, but undeterred

Give me the lamp, Dirk you turd

The Renaissance Period (1500–1660)

Gilbert the Saucy was a political poet who hated the King of England and his entire royal party.  Gilbert claims he was run over by the king’s carriage, and when his guards stopped the carriage to pick up Gilbert, they used him as a human carpet to cover a puddle so the ladies in the royal party would not get their dresses wet.  This, of course, left a bad taste in Gilbert’s mouth when it came to the crown.  He then dedicated his life to crashing Royal parties and screaming out his poetry at inappropriate times during the event. He would be put in jail for his crimes, but the king was not well-liked so Gilbert the Saucy was always able to “escape.” The following poem was shouted out during the spring Mayday celebration.  Gilbert dressed himself like a young girl and pranced around the May pole, but as the song began to climax, he stepped away and began to shout at the Royal Party.

How I Would Like to Kick You in the Jewels

Spring paints our countryside in green and beauty

Though even with the annual rebirth of our land, kicking you betwixt your legs is my duty

In your best spring silks, so grotesque and sweaty

Oh how I would like to give your jewels a punt, I am ready

When you are rambling on to your public all stupid and fat

We can’t pay attention to what you say because all we can think about is round housing you in the sack

Sure you have won some wars, cheers to that,

We have accumulated more land under our flag

The riches will fill all our velvet bags

Though rich in wealth, he is fat as this cat

Why do we put up with a leader who we know is a rat?

Middle English Period (1066–1500)

Turnkel of Bumbleberry was a monk-turned-farmer who lived in the late 1100’s and wrote a series of poems about his misfortune in life.  He was kicked out of the monastery for failing to uphold his daily chores.  Seems like a rather innocent digression, but he was said to have caused 3 fires and the death of several livestock when he was assigned to simply milk the cows.  He was finally thrown out of the monastery when he burned down half of the Village of Inflago, which let’s be honest, was asking for it. He settled down in the town of Bumbleberry after, where he did much of his writing as he worked a farm.  Below is one of his poems depicting a normal day on the farm for Turnkel.

My Peace, My Love, My Farm

I woke up this morning looking for peace

Though none would be found for I am cursed

But these nips from a thousand nits will never cease

Oh to be free of my life’s misfortune you may take my purse

When I woke up the sky was peaceful but my day was up to its usual discourse

I went to milk the cow and her utter exploded

I ran for help but the barn imploded

As I turned back to look at the disaster my mind eroded

I went to mount my horse and ride into town for help

The steed bit me and stomped me into the ground my pride had folded

I check my crops to see how they are growing and I yelp

They were on fire how did this take place

Ahh lightning! If only it would have chosen my face

Now my sweet Abigail helps me face this everyday

Even with all of the misfortune she still decides to stay

As I walk into the house to tell her of today’s

She makes me feel like the day was not a complete abortion

Though I was blasted by the utter of a bovine

Bit by a horse of mine

The barn fell to the ground

And my crops now smolder in a smoky mound

Abigail has dinner waiting

And I am so lucky she can’t hear a sound.

My problems are just words which she does not know

Images only last for a moment high or low

Emotions last a life time and this we understand

Even though life has its misfortune, I still have her hand.