Vogon Poetry: Yea or Nay?

[That Guy Named Aaron]

Vogon Poetry. That whimsical literary torture device invented by the late, great Douglas Adams in his humorous sci-fi classic, The Hitchhiker’s Guide To The Galaxy. Adams himself said Vogon poetry was a spoof of the pretentiousness he felt poetry had. And that subject could be debated until a new Hyperspace Bypass is built.

But what about the poetry itself? Some scoff at it, claiming it isn't poetry or is "low-brow" as crude, vulgar limericks. Are you in that camp, have a neutral view, no opinion, or do you see Vogon Poetry as a legitimate, but misunderstood, form of poetry?

 

[Louanne Learning]

A sample of it might help?

 

[That Guy Named Aaron]

A sample of it might help?

This is from The Hitch-Hiker's Guide To The Galaxy,

Oh freddled gruntbuggly,

Thy micturations are to me, (with big yawning)

As plurdled gabbleblotchits, in midsummer morning

On a lurgid bee,

That mordiously hath blurted out,

Its earted jurtles, grumbling

Into a rancid festering confectious organ squealer. [drowned out by moaning and screaming]

Now the jurpling slayjid agrocrustles,

Are slurping hagrilly up the axlegrurts,

And living glupules frart and stipulate,

Like jowling meated liverslime,

Groop, I implore thee, my foonting turlingdromes,

And hooptiously drangle me,

With crinkly bindlewurdles,mashurbitries.

Or else I shall rend thee in the gobberwarts with my blurglecruncheon,

See if I don’t!


Here is Vogon piece I wrote as another example:

Vogon Opposition To AI Writing

Crumble quick to the rot of ease
Smelly nothings of heartwood bring (stomp right foot three times)
Simple purchase not an ounce of desire
The wicked crave bloated prizes
Can you deny the bloated cliffs of self-proclaim?
Why wade its poison well?
The devil will seize the pallet of spark
Its clock brings pleasures unknown.

Repulse the rancid will that drives (belch twice)
Find harbor in dashed tooling.
When stars bring cleansed vessels ten times
No moist game can declare!
The map won’t sleep, for reward it yearns
Better headings will prevail.
In the bosom, the cloth rests
Fields fresh with supple peace.

 

[Naomasa298]

You should read William McGonagall.

 

[Naja Noir]

This is from The Hitch-Hiker's Guide To The Galaxy,

Oh freddled gruntbuggly,

Thy micturations are to me, (with big yawning)

As plurdled gabbleblotchits, in midsummer morning

On a lurgid bee,

That mordiously hath blurted out,

Its earted jurtles, grumbling

Into a rancid festering confectious organ squealer. [drowned out by moaning and screaming]

Now the jurpling slayjid agrocrustles,

Are slurping hagrilly up the axlegrurts,

And living glupules frart and stipulate,

Like jowling meated liverslime,

Groop, I implore thee, my foonting turlingdromes,

And hooptiously drangle me,

With crinkly bindlewurdles,mashurbitries.

Or else I shall rend thee in the gobberwarts with my blurglecruncheon,

See if I don’t!
Here is Vogon piece I wrote as another example:

Vogon Opposition To AI Writing

Crumble quick to the rot of ease
Smelly nothings of heartwood bring (stomp right foot three times)
Simple purchase not an ounce of desire
The wicked crave bloated prizes
Can you deny the bloated cliffs of self-proclaim?
Why wade its poison well?
The devil will seize the pallet of spark
Its clock brings pleasures unknown.

Repulse the rancid will that drives (belch twice)
Find harbor in dashed tooling.
When stars bring cleansed vessels ten times
No moist game can declare!
The map won’t sleep, for reward it yearns
Better headings will prevail.
In the bosom, the cloth rests
Fields fresh with supple peace.

Actually, I quite like it.


I love poetry, and I Loooooove The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy. If anyone were to attempt this seriously, it could be lots of fun. Or it could be torture?

It is crude. It is low brow. But, that doesn't mean it's not a real style of poetry. Not sure I'd like to see poetry sections filled to the brim with it. But I could see it being brilliantly done.

 

[That Guy Named Aaron]

I wrote a few Vogons last year for NaPoWriMo as a half-serious/half-not shot at writing poetry. And really, that's how I normally write Vogon Poetry: I take the absurdity of it seriously. If that makes sense.

There's a website that gives templates, but it's more of a madlib type thing where you input a few prompts and it does the rest. Meh. Where's the fun in that? I'd rather just go gleefully apenuts and do the whole thing myself.

 

[Louanne Learning]

Vogon Opposition To AI Writing

I liked your piece better than the one from Hitch-Hikers Guide. Too many made-up words sort of threw me off.

Yours was really good!

 

[Rath Darkblade]

You should read William McGonagall.

Or even Shakespeare. Or Alfred, Lord Tennyson. Even some great writers have their off days.

But I agree: McGonagall is clearly the worst of them all. His poem about the Tay Bridge Disaster has to be read to be disbelieved. A sample of it reads as follows:

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.

(I wish it would stop, but it goes on for another 55 excruciating lines).

As for Vogon poetry ... let me try.

As a blorgle lurgid drangled on a bindlewurdle bee,
I hooptiously implore thee, my expungiest frapt,
And miserable oakenstaff that I groop but cannot wieldenschtaffen --
Give it a try!

 

[DLC]

I always liked the concept that the Vogon's evil was bureaucracy.

 

[Woof]

I always liked the concept that the Vogon's evil was bureaucracy.

Yes! I've definitely worked with a few. I always thought this was the point with their poetry too: they could only produce nonsense because they took everything way too seriously and couldn't feel enough to make sense of it. Do like a bit of nonsense though

 

[Rath Darkblade]

Let's make another attempt at Vogon poetry.

As I was a-walkin' to the beloved floorgie Department
singing hey, ho, and blow the lurgid form AW-1258752/A down,
a wurdle young Vogon I flurged there to play with her bombardment,
O, give me some groop to wake the managing blurgle up-- damn!

*reads the poem again*

Tsk, tsk. This will not do. "Department" and "bombardment" obviously rhyme, in a sort-of roundabout way, and "down" and "up" are almost-rhymes too.

Ah, well. I guess I shall have to be fed to the Ravenous Bugblatter Beast of Traal now.

 

[That Guy Named Aaron]

Something I just thought of over a cup of coffee. Not my best attempt at Vogon Poetry, but it's fun to try if you're feeling silly and full of crap.

Smelly wood of the departed
Forgive the blight of trumpet dirt
For the employed callings
Of color fades yearning. (belch twice)
If nothing passes on maggot breeze
Will stone mourn normal gropes?
I now witness foggy bath
And slimy toes of welcome.

The camera betrays barrelled meat
Raw light that vomits back. (belch three times)
It wasn’t flight that neutered squares
Knowing cheese-cup ignites the clouds.
Bold is the enema of despair,
Think fast at which you leave.
No angle, no pitch, no return
Hides rotten letter of fur.

 

[murff]

What you are calling Vogon Poetry is not a new idea. It’s basically absurdist poetry that has a history in the postmodern movement if you can call postmodernism a movement. But it is in my opinion a reaction against the mid 20th century Modernist movement that carried a particulaly authoritative ( and masculine) vision of expression.

In that sphere it counts as resistence poetry.