In Defence of Vogon Poetry

Vogon poetry is officially the third worst in the universe. It is so bad that during a reading the poet’s own audience has been known to gnaw through their own legs to escape. The very worst poetry, mercifully, perished along with its creator when the Earth was demolished.

And yet I want to say a small, careful word in its defence. Not for the quality, which is indefensible, but for the act.

Make the thing anyway

• The Vogons are dreadful poets, but they do write, and they do read it aloud, with terrible conviction.
• Most creative work starts out closer to Vogon verse than to Keats, and that is fine.
• The only true failure is refusing to make anything for fear it will be bad.

Books, art, music, words: I keep coming back to all of it precisely because the early attempts are allowed to be awful. You write the bad draft, survive the reading, and slowly become less Vogon over time. Just, please, spare your audience the bit involving their own legs.