In Competition 3362 you were invited to submit a passage from Shakespeare as rewritten by the sensitivity reader. The entries were on the whole excellent and it was painful to have to jettison so many: often it came down to a repetition of the same excerpt. A special mention to D.A. Prince (‘My partner’s eyes are theirs: I cannot share comparisons’), David Blakey for his Old Shepherd’s speech, and Robert Brydges for his revised Twelfth Night in which Viola ends up with Olivia, Sebastian with Antonio, and Orsino is left ‘betrothèd nor to maid nor man’. The winners get £25.
This royal throne of monarchs, government-supported,
This oft-changing democracy, this seat of deities,
This other Utopia, pending improvements,
This island built by evolving nature
Against infection, acts of terrorism and related hostilities,
This collection of citizens of all backgrounds,
This diverse geological landscape set by the English Channel,
Which serves it in the physical form of a barrier,
Or as a moat, separating its territory
from other Euro-centric lands,
This location, this environment, this nation, this United Kingdom,
This birthplace of royal figureheads and commoners,
Famous for certain celebrities,
Despised for its former empire-building actions,
Now offering multi-faith service and true equality,
Repenting of past crusades, slavery and invasions.
Janine Beacham
Thrice its contents have been boiled
As round our cauldron we have toiled
At hummus, quorn and mung-bean bake
And kelp and lentil protein shake,
With kale en gelée, lettuce purée,
Pulses three-way, seaweed soufflé,
Edamame bean surprise
With almond milk and fat-free fries,
And fig brulée with senna pods,
The choice of costive vegan gods.
Good fortune will attend Macbeth who
Comes to try our tasting menu.
So, double, double toil and trouble;
Though fire still burns ’tis veggies bubble.
Martin Parker
To be, or what to be, that is the question,
Whether we should rely on mindfulness,
Or face proactively those many things
That might keep us awake. We need our rest,
For by our sleep we can bring to an end
A thousand problems. But perchance we’ll dream –
Ay, there’s the rub! For sometimes when we have
Dropped off, dreams are not nice, so we require
A healthy sleep, and pleasant visions are
Something devoutly to be wished, that we
Forget our boyfriend/girlfriend troubles, or
Our pompous boss. We may quietus make
Not with a bodkin but a beaker full
Of cocoa, from whose bourn-ville all may drink,
Then, like all travellers, return refreshed.
Brian Murdoch
All the world is a safe performance space. Persons of one, several or no genders play vital roles. All share equally a capacity to exit and enter. Orthodox chronology restricts freedom by compelling individuals to adopt seven roles in a given order. These roles, here ungendered in order to encourage identification from the full breadth of the identity rainbow, can be listed thus: infant, learner, lover, peacemaker, human rights lawyer, pre-senior, senior. To each role can be appended a set of stereotypical descriptors, excised here because they are in all cases discriminatory and likely triggering to those who have passed through the phases described, or to those bearing witness to similar passage in others. The suggestion offered by these satirical descriptors, that life is circular and for this reason futile, is excised also, as it is disempowering. Blank verse being exclusionary,
I have chosen to express myself in plain English.Adrian Fry
IAGO: Even now, no, very now
A proud man of African descent
Doth this night woo thy gender-neutral offspring,
They are lock’d e’er now in discourse. Arise!
Awake the loyal citizens with the bell,
A birthing person, they may give to thee,
A grandchild thou can’st dandle on thy knee.
Arise, I say.
BRABANTIO. What? What say you?
Is your emotional judgment lost?
Sylvia Fairley
The raven herself is hoarse
That croaks the fatal entrance of Duncan
Under my battlements, bespeaking his sense
Of imperious entitlement, to thus encroach
Upon this fortress which serves me in the office
Of a safe space, preserved from the male gaze,
Now invaded by this hateful agent of the patriarchy.
Come you physicians that tend on mortal parts,
Unsex me here, fill me from crown to toe
Top-full of potions and medicines potable,
Stop up the access to my front passage.
Come to my woman’s breasts and take them
With thy keen knife, leave not the slightest substance.
As for my privy parts, thou can’st make them
And I shall set them forth before foul Duncan
And cry, ‘Behold, behold!’
Sue Pickard
Recycle all your efforts, cherished chums,
In this ongoing siege scenario;
Or gently plug the edifice ahead
With pictures of this country’s ‘fallen’ folk.
When peril’s only mild, it is most apt
For humans to keep calm and carry on.
But in peak danger, you are all advised
To match a tiger’s/tigress’ attitude.
And mirror his/her/their assertiveness,
Invoking vital fluids. So: replace
Innate kindheartedness with shows of pique,
Then use your eyeball (mind your mental health!)
To emulate artillery on wheels,
And, with your forehead jutting out, extend
It, like a cliff, towards the French. Teeth clenched,
And nostrils flared, inhale, but please take care.
Richard Spencer
No. 3365: breaking it down
You are invited to submit an extract from or synopsis of a PhD about some aspect of contemporary street culture, such as for example breakdancing (150 words maximum). Please email entries to competition@spectator.co.uk by midday on 28 August.
Comments