COMPETITION

plIKE MALT ,

Prizes and praises

Jaspistos

IN COMPETITION NO. 1793 you were invited to write a poem following the rhythm and rhyme- and half-rhyme scheme of Auden's —0 where are you going?" said reader to rider:. One competitor chided me for misquot- ing, claiming that 'when' should have been 'where' in 'The valley is fatal when fur- naces burn'. Since Auden's early editions are rife with misprints, he may well be right, but that's how it is in my Faber Collected Shorter Poems (1966). As the last stanza of Auden's poem doesn't quite duplicate the quoted one, do not look askance at one of the prizewinners, who chose to follow the master exactly. There were many pleasure-givers, among whom stood out N. E. Soret (I have to lose weight, I am fatter than butter'), Basil Ransome-Davies CI sit in the garden with Gudrun and Gordon'), Gerard Benson ("The term's going nicely," wrote Peter to Pater') and Paul Griffin (-0 what are you doing?" cried fireman to foreman'). The prizewinners, printed below, get £20 each, and the bonus bottle of Drummond's Pure Malt Scotch whisky goes to Susan Ther- kelsen .

'0 here is a jacket,' said Laura to Lara, 'Of top-stitched grey velvet and lined with pure silk.

Here's one of linen, a peaked cap like Lenin. Stripy blue suit of Bill Cash and his ilk.'

'Let us empty more bags,' said Lara to Laura, 'We'll rake through the bundles of rubbishy clothes' —

Socks that were Andy's, an old lady's undies, Out-of-date twinsets and shoes that she loathes.

Brave charity workers, like Laura and Lara, Search hard to find bargains to hang on the rail. Sackfuls of Crimplene and cheesecloth that's crumplin', Bodily odours of underwear stale.

Time given so freely by Lara and Laura Is spent at the low-rent, lease-ending damp shop, Valiantly raising more funds for the rising Cost of the office staff sitting on top.

(Susan Therkelsen) '0 why are you playing?' said pauper to piper, 'The begging's much sweeter now tourists are here: Highlander reeling won't get the cash rolling, The trick is the threat which inspires the fear.'

'0 why are you crying?' said bobby to baby, 'You're safe in my arms and the doctor's been called; Though left on my doorstep, and Mum took a dire step, The note says you've eaten; you're warmly shawled.'

'0 why are you fixing?' said carer to Cora, 'You told me your habit was beaten for sure, Live as a crackhead, you die as a crackhead, By day you will thieve, at night you will whore.'

'0 why are you grieving?' said minor to mourner,

'We now have a freedom you never enjoyed — Faith implied stricture, and this imposed structure, The blight of the old, which the young avoid.'

(Tim Hopkins)

'0 wherefore so weepy?' said major to minor. 'The woodwind is willing a happier song. Why do you bother, my sad-visaged brother, To add to an angst already too long?'

'0 will you be happy,' said lover to leaver, 'When tolling bells tell that I've gone to my grave,

Calling the parson to bury the person Whose death is the debt you never forgave?'

'0 come to the river', said sculler to scholar, 'And bugger the beggars who bid you revise. The oar won't be thwarted, the oak never

sported — A First is a phantom, and prison the prize.'

'Because of your bluster,' said minor to major. 'You bet your sweet life, dear,' said leaver to lover.

'A plague on your pastime,' said scholar to sculler.

'I simply don't care. I simply don't care.' (E. A. Payne) 'I can hold back no longer,' cried sinner to sunner, Traversing the pebbles with practised aplomb. 'Lured on by the glimmer of evident glamour, May I gaze at the goddess it's issuing from?' 'Now look,' said the constable loitering later To check on events by the side of the sea, 'The law doesn't favour such open-air fervour, So kindly uncouple, and come on with me.'

'Well, now we're in trouble,' said soul-mate to cell-mate

(The nick being chocker they'd chucked them a deux).

'I fear not a caution but full prosecution Will follow our fleeting essai amoureux.'

Said the beak, 'We must see the misguided are guarded From smooth-tongued gallants who so guilefully roam.

This glib lady-killer goes straight to the cooler. The lady I'll leave till I get her back home.'

(Chris Tingley)