In Competition 2803 you were invited to supply a nostalgic poem about a product that is no longer available. I found myself transported back to the good old days of the Hillman Imp, Spangles and — among many other lost but not forgotten delights — Dr J. Collis Browne. ‘Oh for a taste of Fuller’s
In Competition 2802 you were invited to supply a poem on the subject of your choice in which the final letter of each line becomes the first letter of the next line. As usual with this type of technical challenge, strenuous accusations of sadism were directed judge-wards: many entrants echoed Brian Allgar’s sentiments below.
In Competition 2801 you were invited to rewrite, in pompous and prolix style, any well-known simple poem. Space is on the tight side so, pausing only to congratulate and commiserate with the longer-than-usual list of those who narrowly missed out — Mae Scanlan, Mary Holtby, Nigel Stuart, George Simmers, Rob Stuart, Ray Kelley, Adrian
In Competition 2800 you were invited to reconstitute a well-known work of literature as a tweet, i.e., text of up to 140 characters, including spaces. A few years ago Alexander Aciman and Emmett Rensin, two students from the University of Chicago, embarked on a mission to make the great works of literature more palatable to
In Competition No. 2799 you were invited to submit a poem about smells. Edward Thomas’s wonderfully evocative poem ‘Digging’ inspired this challenge: ‘Today I think/ Only with scents, — scents dead leaves yield,/ And bracken, and wild carrot’s seed,/ And the square mustard field…’ Thanks to Brian Allgar, who submitted an entry that missed the
In Competition No. 2798 you were invited to choose one of the following real headlines from regional newspapers — ‘W. Norwood “Curry Cat” murder latest’, ‘Badger shot by St Ives locksmith’, ‘“Smug” Swans attack dalmatian’ — and to submit the full report behind one of them. ‘Smug Swans attack dalmatian’, from the Ham & High,
In Competition No. 2797 you were invited to think of the worst possible title for a poem and then write that poem. Oh, for more space! This challenge brought in a large and excellent entry that fizzed with the spirit of McGonagall and McKittrick Ros. I don’t have space to commend all I’d
In Competition No. 2796 you were invited to submit a poem about a minor ailment written by a hypochondriac. Brian Dillon, in his book Tormented Hope: Nine Hypochondriac Lives, gives a vivid description of the hypochondriac’s mental and emotional landscape: ‘You listen constantly, in a kind of trance, for communications from your body; it is
In Competition No. 2795 you were invited to submit a palinode (a poem retracting a previously expressed opinion) on behalf of a well-known poet. We’ve done this before and the results were so impressive I thought we should give it another go. This time round I reluctantly disqualified some extremely funny, well-made poems because
In Competition No. 2794 you were invited to give a helping hand to Sebastian Faulks, who will write the first-ever authorised Wodehouse sequel, and submit a scene from an imaginary sequel in which Wodeshousian characters of your choice debate the wisdom of such an enterprise. This was a mean assignment, given that Wodehouse imitators are
In Competition No. 2793 you were invited to submit a short story featuring an animal written in the style of James Herbert. Herbert, much loved by teenage boys of a certain generation, died last month and the tributes came in thick and fast. Crime writer Ian Rankin spoke for many when he tweeted: ‘Sad news
In Competition No. 2792 you were invited to submit a portrait, in verse, of one poet by another. Gerard Benson wondered if I’d had in mind Richard Greene’s description of Chaucer when I set the challenge. In fact, it was Mallarmé’s pen portrait of his friend Manet — ‘a virile innocence in beige overcoat, beard
In Competition No. 2791 you were invited to provide a poem in praise of a country other than the United Kingdom. Thanks to John Whitworth, who suggested the topic. It generated a wave of love-thy-neighbourliness, albeit with an undercurrent of mischief, that is a welcome antidote to the prevailing mood of xenophobia. I liked Ray
In Competition No. 2790 you were invited to take inspiration from Samuel Johnson’s A Dictionary of the English Language of 1755 and come up with some suitable Johnsonian definitions for modern times. Thanks to Michael Williamson from Australia, who suggested that I invite competitors to put themselves in the Good Doctor’s shoes and imagine
In Competition No. 2789 you were invited to supply the facts of life as explained by a well-known figure from history or the character from a well-known novel. Most of you chose characters from novels. Godfrey Ackers presented a gloriously pithy Mr Micawber: ‘Nightly coition five, rigidity positive — result happiness; Nightly coition nil, flaccidity
In Competition No. 2788 you were invited to submit a poem about a relative. A popular one, this, and long lines mean there is space only to award the winners £25 each and the bonus fiver to Bill Greenwell. Commendations go to Dorothy Pope and Jayne Osborn. Till seventeen, I didn’t know of Nell
In Competition No. 2787 you were invited to submit a Shakespearean soliloquy delivered by the ghost of Richard III reflecting on the discovery of his bones in a Leicester car park. The last Plantagenet king is, it seems, even further from the psychopath conjured up by Shakespeare’s pen than previously thought. Psychologists who have spent
‘Dear Sir, I am the unfortunate woman that lies under sentens of Death in Newgatt…’ So begins a letter of 1757 addressed to the powers that be at the Foundling Hospital in London’s Bloomsbury. Written in a strong hand, it contains the poignant petition of a woman on death row, Margaret Larney, that her children,
In Competition No. 2786 you were invited to submit a feature for a travel supplement as it might have been written by a well-known novelist, living or dead. Derek Morgan’s George Orwell is in Paris and insufficiently down-and-out: ‘Although I would have preferred to haul my suitcase on foot from Gare du Nord, a
In Competition No. 2785 you were invited to submit poetic advice on how to woo a member of either sex. What better instructor can there be than Ovid, whose Ars amatoria gives guidance on the art of romantic conquest that knocks modern seduction manuals such as The Rules into a cocked hat. Two sections are