Our mutual friend, Bitter Blogger, has joined the esteemed rank of William McGonagall, Adrian Mole and Kristen Stewart. The internet has dubbed her, The Worst Poet of All Time.
The last we heard from Bitter Blogger, she was writing a book. Going on a hiatus from writing prose to writing poetry instead, Bitter Blogger or BB Queen, her nom de plume, has made a fool of herself on a national, as well as internet viral level, by reading a self-composed poem at the inauguration of Poetry Month in New Delhi, the capital city of India. Dressed in a black linen tunic, with black palazzo trousers and an indigenous embroidered scarf in red, BB Queen looked the part as she stepped onto the podium to read the following poem:
Of Writing Prose
One must be Morose
Whilst writing Prose
Else readers will doze
Without passions to arose.
Anyone can Busta Rhyme
As long as their Rhythm’s fine
It’s only a Signature of Time
While good prose is Syncopation Sublime.
Hence, I apologise
For my jazzy prose-y freestyle
They might even be worth the while
Testing endurance, but bringing a smile.
BB Queen had been surprised but pleased on receiving the invitation to be the opening act of the festival. She wrote in her blog:
“B*tches, I’m famous! You ain’t gonna hear much from this artiste extraordinaire again. She’s going Nobel!”
She had expected the public reception to her reading. In an interview with respected poetry and feminist journal The Poetess, she said,
“I think it is a good idea to start with something positive and uplifting. Poetry tends to be dire, depressing stuff for most people, but I want to be someone who helps get their spirits up. After all, the devil doesn’t just have the best tunes, but also the best jokes. My ambition as a poet is not only to make them think and feel, but to enchant them with the most attractive quality known to man: making people laugh.”
Laugh they did, but unfortunately at her. It continuously swelled in volume, to drown her final lines completely. Speculations have arisen on the internet with what these final lines maybe, with lip readers and sound engineers doing their best to decipher them. The poet has granted permission to this newspaper to publish her poem, because she believes it is meritorious enough to stand on its own. She says, “These people won’t know a good poem if it hit them in the eye! They’ve always laughed. They laughed at Keats, but look what they had to say after he was gone. I was the opening act after all. If they are so good at judging poetry, why weren’t they on the stage?”
An organiser at the festival, who did not wish to be named, said, “We knew what we were getting into. We had been secret, ironic fans of BB Queen’s poetry for sometime. It’s top stuff, easily better than McGonagall or James Franco. But, we didn’t want her to know. Our website is by invitation only, and many of our members who are poetry award winners, wanted her to open the festival. This was our way of putting this sheer poetic genius on the map, but it’s not like she’s going to thank us!”
When asked about her future plans, BB Queen remains ever the optimist. “Of course, I will publish my work! I’ve already received emails from Penguin and Hachette. They know talent when they see it. They wouldn’t email just anybody, especially when millions are dying for them to reply to their emails.”
The publicity certainly doesn’t seem to affect her negatively. Her social media has received millions of views and followers, and her fan website has gone public. A professor of poetry at a top ranking university had this to say on the subject, “The world has always needed its bad poets. Especially during this time, when so much of our entertainment is purposefully made in bad taste. It is lamentable that a good poem would not get viral videos and publishing contracts as easily as a bad one.”
In my time of getting to know Bitter Blogger, however, I feel compelled to give her the benefit of the doubt. After all, she did write in her poem titled Bad Poetry,
Bear through the sawdust for that clichéd gold to shine
She promises she will get there, when it is her time.
– From our surprisingly ambivalent correspondent