Speccie: Short Cuts
 

Bill Greenwell and Chris O'Carroll kept up the honour of the Sphere in the Competition, as you can see. The new one is the sort of thing I really like. I hope you do too.

No. 2671: short cuts
You are invited to submit a poem in which the rhymed ending of each line is a truncated word (16 lines maximum). Please submit entries, by email where possible, to lucy@spectator.co.uk by midday on 27 October.

Do you think this means that every line has to rhyme, or just that the lines that do happen to rhyme have to use truncated words?

Yes I think every line has to rhyme.

Today I'm feeling very joyf.
I've got myself a lovely boyf.
Bring out a magnum of the bub.
Today I'm going to ditch my hub.
He's giving me a pile of hass.
I'm finished with the sorry bas.

Thanks, John. I guess the key here is to do what you did in the final couplet, which is to make rhymes of the short forms when the full forms wouldn't rhyme. Otherwise you could just write an ordinary poem with feminine rhymes and clip the last syllable of each line, which isn't, in and of itself, that funny.

Roger, I don't understand. Didn't John do that to all the lines?

Orwn, when I first read "boyf" I filled it out as "boyfull," on the model of "joyful." I see now that it ought to be "boyfriend." So yes, John rhymed short forms when the full forms wouldn't rhyme, but I didn't catch that right off: joyful, boyfriend, bubbly, hubby, hassle, bastard. (Bubbly and hubby are perilously close, though.)

Yeah, you're right. I read too quickly and was thrown off track by the middle one, which would have come sort of close to being an actual rhyme compared to the final couplet. Point taken.

Anyway, here's a lame and offensive start, just to warm up. I'm hoping that the first rhyme is indeed a real rhyme to British ears -- since it's not exact to my American ears.

A cat-loving lady from Bruss,
who fancied herself upper crus,
 one dark day hit bott,
 and no longer snott,
began to live off of her puss.

Before I lay me down to slum
in winter, fall, or spring or summ,
I raise my prayers to God in Heav
and say, "I trust you Lord, whatev
you're cooking up, a curse or bless,
and yet I have a small confess:
I wouldn't mind some health and mon,
a loin more fruitful than a bunn,
a joyous life crowned by longev.
Is that too much to ask? Whatev."
.

I've done a longer version, but I'm not sure the extra lines are worth it:

Before I lay me down to slum
in winter, fall, or spring or summ,
I bow my head, and feeling humb,

I raise my prayers to God in Heav,
for whom I have the greatest rev,
and say, "I trust you Lord, whatev

you're cooking up, a curse or bless,
and yet I have a small confess
I might as well get off my ches:

I wouldn't mind some health and mon,
and if, dear Lord, I may be blun,
a loin more fruitful than a bunn,

a fine career capped by longev,
and far more decades than just sev.
A happy life, in short. Whatev."

Nice one, Roger. Everybody should look up Harry Graham's 'Poetical Economy'. Very funny and apposite surely to this comp. Hum! A rhyme for comp? Here's the thuing I started further up. Needs a litle attention perhaps.

Bring out a magnum of the bubb.
Today I'm going to ditch my hub.
He’s given me a pile of hass,
I'm finished with the sorry bas,
And now, chockfull of hope and alc,
I feel like Juliet on her balc.
I’m jolly, jittery and joyf.
I've got myself a lovely boyf.
Just thinking of him’s such a friss.
He’s sexy, sweet and rich as Croes,
And so incredibly intell
He turns my very knees to jell.
I’m feeling like a million doll.
My bliss is total and unqual.
My heart is his, for Love has conq,
And so to bed with lots of bonk.

A big improvement, John.

I looked up Graham and saw a few lines from the poem you mentioned. Funny stuff, though he didn't have to truncate every line. I also see his verse is still for sale, and I might order it:

http://www.amazon.com/When-Grandmama...7146470&sr=1-1

Did the mention of "poetic economy" mean you prefer my shorter version?

Close Call

What happened was nearly catas.
The fellow at fault was a ras.
He put a lit cig
on her seat. Did she wigg!
Her bloomers came nearly unfas.

Mary E. Moore

No, no Roger. His poem is quite long, about 2 pages, and, after an introductory stanza or so, all the lines end with truncated words. Harry Graham is best known for his ruthless rhymes, but he was a light verse man of some skill and aplomb - early 20th century, often known as Captain Harry Graham. My grandmother used to recite to me:

Mama,mama, oh what is this
That looks like strawberry jam?
Hush,hush, my dear, 'tis poor Papa
Run over by a tram

Nice one, Mary. These things are a lot trickier than they look.

Another writer fond of a clipped rhyme was Ira Gershwin, as in:

Dont mind telling you, in my humble fash
That you thrill me through, with a tender pash,
When you said you care, magine my emoshe
I swore then and there, permanent devoshe,
You made all other men seem blah
Just you alone filled me with ahhhhhhhh......

'S wonderful, 's marvellous
That you should care for me!

Thanks, George. It was driving me crazy trying to think of that song.

Well, this is what I've managed. Maybe it still needs work.

Some believe the plays of Shake
To be the work of Francis Bac,
While others claim the Earl of Ox
To be the toff who used as prox
An undistinguished man from Strat.
For could, they ask, a mere theat
Write comedies that fizz like cham
And tragedies as deep as Ham?
No! This bard's class must be the upp,
And he must have a mind made supp
In some ancient hall of learn;
For a poet's fancy's better furn
By an Oxford lecture or a serm
Than by carousing at the Merm.
Well, that is what some folks conjec.
I don't believe it for one sec.

trickier than they look indeed
 

One lunchtime, over port and Stilt,
I incidentally thought of Milt,
Of whom the eminent Sam John
Observed 'his power is to aston',
While giving him a hearty drub
For being such a staunch repub,
The blind bard later roused to ang –
For 'doing damage to the lang' –
The esoteric T S. El,
A transatlantic sort of fell.
Why should so mountainous a tal
Be made a cultural Aunt Sal?
It was a headbanging conund.
I couldn't solve it, only wond,
So chose instead to think of Aud,
Though that way only led to bored.

Late attempt at this one
 

I love a glass of Jacob’s Cree,
Valpolicella, Saint Émill.
I’m partial to a nice Zinfan,
a Hardy’s Stamp or Oxford Lan.

I normally exhibit gump,
not overdoing my consump,
but last night I got very drun
- to be quite honest, as a skun!

My head’s exploding. I feel grott;
I do regret that second bott.
Hair of the dog: that’s what I wan.
Let’s see – a Cotes du Rhone? Chardonn?

I’m sorry, but I didn’t hea.
What’s that you said? You think I nee
to ring AA? What utter boll.
What for? I’m not an alcohol.

George, Bazza, Jayne, that should mop up all the prizes nicely. I hope I get in there too, but I'm not so sure