COMPETITION

Bouts limes

Jaspistos

IN COMPETITION NO. 1783 you were invited to write a poem with 16 given rhyme-words in a set order.

The rhyme-words were taken from 'My Papa's Waltz' by that excellent American poet, Theodore Roethke, one of whose poems was featured in the London Under- ground series a couple of years ago. Gerard Benson alone among competitors recognised the source. There was a notice- able drift towards four themes: suicide, mountaineering, domestic chores, hang- overs. In a talent-crammed week, special commendations go to Liz Weston, Ralph Sadler, J. Keenan, Angela Evans and D. A. Prince, The prizewinners, printed be- low, take £20 each, and the bonus bottle of Drummond's Pure Malt Scotch whisky goes to Alanna Blake.

Climb up the rockface, rationing your breath, Not looking down for fear of turning dizzy; This is the final test, the wall of death: No one pretended you would find it easy.

Up past the limestone crops, the blue-slate pans, On to the safety of the granite shelf, The mountainside presents its countenance Cold as the surface of the moon itself. Now come the penalties: an aching wrist Bruises on knee, strained thigh and bleeding knuckle, A nervous final foothold almost missed. But here's the summit. Proudly lift your head, Ignore the lowering cloud, the damp, the dirt, Erect a staff firm in its lofty bed And, for your flag, raise a victorious shirt.

(Alanna Blake) He talks without much pause for breath And keeps the client nicely dizzy,

Beats each passing doubt to death - 'No problem', 'simple', 'Thursday', 'easy'.

Glide-aways for storing pans?

A built-in three-way corner shelf?

No blemish will he countenance; This kitchen will be style itself.

The client cocks a tortured wrist And chews upon a further knuckle.

Any trick perhaps been missed?

No, look, he's just about to buckle.

There's the telltale nod of head; The last misgiving hits the dirt And one more order's put to bed And one more punter's lost his shirt.

(Ken Hodgson) It's difficult these days to get my breath. Ascending stairs, I pause on landings, dizzy. The medic says I'll drink myself to death Unless I get a grip and take it easy. I've bottles hidden where I keep the pans And sneaked away behind books on a shelf. My mirror shows a ruined countenance That looks as though it doesn't like itself. Light hesitation marks adorn my wrist. I wear a dirty plaster on a knuckle – It's where I tried to carve a duck and missed. I dread the moments when my legs will buckle As oxygen drains gravely from my head. Better to leave the washing-up and dirt, The empty cans and bottles, head for bed, And dribble cherry brandy on my shirt.

(Basil Ransome-Davies) Hidden behind the bench, I hold my breath And watch them at it; terror makes me dizzy. If I am found he'll beat me half to death. He is a thug, and Cook, they say, is 'easy'. He lifts her hem, right by the pots and pans; Without demur she leans back on the shelf, And from my cache I see her countenance Inflame, her pinned-up hair unloose itself.

My view, beneath the trestle, shows his wrist, The ugly hand stump-fingered, tattooed knuckle, Groping her naked thigh. No move I've missed. Those fingers fumble her suspender buckle. A fearful turmoil races in my head; I should not watch. This, I'm aware, is dirt. But watch I do. And later in my bed I know my hand will steal beneath my shirt. (Gerard Benson) Bankrupt! My breath Stops: I feel dizzy.

It's worse than death. Death would be easy.

Upon the pans Above the shelf My countenance Reflects itself_ Shall I cut my wrist Or bite my knuckle? The signs I missed! My knees buckle.

I bow my head.

My name is dirt.

1 made my bed And lost my shirt. (Helen Bryant)

No. 1786: Choice of three

As we learnt in last week's Spectator, the scientist Francis Galton wrote some curiously titled publications - Arithmetic by smell, The average flush of excitement, Good and bad temper in English families, for example. You are invited to produce a piece of prose (150 words maximum) to fit one of these titles. Entries to 'Competition No. 1786' by Thursday, 1 July.