The Oldie Bouts Rimés by 5th April
 

Here you go - we love the bouts rimés, don't we, and we're good at this sort of thing, so let's show them just how good we can be!
(I've won it twice, when 1st place got a bottle of single malt Scotch as the bonus) :)

Jayne


xxxxxxxxxxxxxxThe Oldie Competition no. 162
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxby Tessa Castro

Time for the annual bouts rimés. Write a poem of 14 lines, please, with these words as the rhymes in the order given: plains, day, away, stains, pains, May, play, rains, leaves, suns, sheaves, breath, runs, death.

Entries to ‘Competition 162’ by post (The Oldie, 65 Newman Street, London W1T 3EG), email (comps@theoldie.co.uk) or fax (020 7436 8804) by 5th April 2013.
Don’t forget to include your postal address.

I'm sure you'll all do better than this, even though Keats had it easier since no one told him what rhymes he had to use:

After dark vapors have oppress'd our plains
For a long dreary season, comes a day
Born of the gentle South, and clears away
From the sick heavens all unseemly stains.
The anxious month, relieved of its pains,
Takes as a long-lost right the feel of May;
The eyelids with the passing coolness play
Like rose leaves with the drip of Summer rains.
The calmest thoughts came round us; as of leaves
Budding—fruit ripening in stillness—Autumn suns
Smiling at eve upon the quiet sheaves—
Sweet Sappho's cheek—a smiling infant's breath—
The gradual sand that through an hour-glass runs—
A woodland rivulet—a Poet's death.

Roger,
Not only is it harder to do with all the rhymes stipulated, but I'd guess that you've done it faster than Keats would have.
14 lines in an elapsed time of well under two hours.
Impressive!

Douglas, Roger was implying that the poem he posted is by Keats.

Susan

Well, That does put a different light on it. Still, one has to know his Keats pretty well in order to pick out the right poem from a batch of rhymes.

A Life Well-Lived; James Earl Carter
 

A Life Well-Lived; James Earl Carter

This sturdy Georgia farm boy, born in Plains
Had worked his father’s peanut fields each day,
Until at age eighteen he went away
To learn to sail; then got saltwater stains
For seven years, until relieved of pains
To rove the world. Returning home in May,
And growing skilled at politics, he'd play
The power game like sunshine follows rains.

He reached the Apex, then like autumn’s leaves,
Fell back to Earth, and felt the cooling suns
Of Fame. Then God said “Gather ye the sheaves
To feed thy meekest brethren. Use thy breath
And strength to shelter those whose lives had runs
Of Fortune worse than thine; and challenge Death."


I have one factual error in this. How much poetic license is allowed?

Here's my first try...
 

Eleanor Graves, 14; Donner Pass, February 1847

I dreamt about it all across the plains:
a kingdom-come, an everlasting day
for idling weeks and weeks and years away,
forgetting crowded wagons and the stains
of trail dirt. Not that heaven'd lack for pains.
It might get dreary: months of sunshine May.
A girl could run clean out of ways to play,
and even California sometimes rains.

I still dream in this forest of no leaves,
whose fetid pools reflect the chillsome suns
of days as cruel as knowledge of the sheaves
we shed as deadweight down below. My breath
grows short. I long to float where the river runs
and so live ever, not just swoon to death.

LA GRANDE PEUR

As Tory toffs scan France’s vasty plains
and dream of rescue, as on Dunkirk’s day,
their shrivelled minds, like small ships, slip away,
puffed on by sails bereft of bankers’ stains
and crewed by uncomplaining churls, whose pains
of poverty and loss they mock, while May
plots to resile from Human Rights and play,
like night and fog, with all on whom there rains,
their reign’s harsh hand. This faux armada leaves
our times for those, which needed no two suns
to light its Empire’s day, whose sweated sheaves
paid for such prideful rule with slavish breath.
Unlike two Churchills, in toff blood there runs
fear of free Europe and their Party’s death.


I doubt if this will chime withThe Oldie's prejudices - though two Churchills might just give them pause!

The Dong Sonnet

The Dong, across the great Gromboolian plains,
Follows his nose for ever and a day.
Born to an endless grief, he lopes away
Towards a golden west whose sunset stains
The sky, fashioning songs to ease the pains
Of hopeless Love, to make October May.
One song to sad guitar he likes to play,
A plaintive ditty, redolent of rains
And long Autumnal melancholy, leaves
Him weeping, weeping, for the happy suns
He knew when innocence bound up the sheaves
Now dried and withered by the bitter breath
Of knowing better. Mark him as he runs
His race, forever westering to Death.

Though I do know Keats fairly well, I confess that I got an assist from Google.

In dreams, I gallop over empty plains,
A stallion, swift and free; and every day,
With willing mares I have my end away
(No bed-clothes, so no fear of tell-tale stains).
Unfettered, lusty, wild, no aches and pains
This springtime of my life, this month of May,
No duties, obligations, only play
(And sex, of course), whether it shines or rains.

But morning comes, and all exuberance leaves.
I’m old; at best, I'll see a few more suns.
The wheat for burger buns stands there in sheaves;
The mincer’s ready. Still, I hold my breath:
The butcher has a bad case of the runs -
It’s all that’s keeping me from certain death.

I was about to remark that the rhymes would encourage melancholy, but Brian has proved me wrong. I back that for a win.

The rain in Spain falls mainly on the plains,
But I intend to find out one fine day
Just how the rain can know to stay away
From mountains? Tell me why the rain abstains
From drenching beaches, why it takes such pains
To spare the hills from showers? Come what may,
Whatever game the Spanish raindrops play
Is different from the game of English rains.

If Spain has different raindrops, are its leaves
As well distinct? Its stars? Its moons? Its suns?
(My questions multiply to fill vast sheaves
And new ones venture forth with every breath!).
In fair Pamplona, where the great bull runs,
Is there no rain, just blood and sand and death?

John: I think I'll bet on Roger. Stakes?

Roger, I like it. But I wonder whether "abstains" will be accepted for "stains"?

I'm sure it will.

So... that looks very much like two of the four prizes might well be spoken for: Brian and Roger. Nice ones, guys! :D

Jayne

No it most certainly will not, I am afraid. They are different words. Similarly May must be the month (or the lady) and cannot be an auxiliary verb.

Well, I hope you are wrong. I ended the line on"stains" exactly as I was supposed to, without changing capitalization.

In the past I've seen a bit of leeway attached to the use of words in the way Roger has done here, John. (I think it's quite cheeky to use 'abstains' :) and I hope this fun entry doesn't get penalised for it.)

It would also be a bit mean not to allow 'may', rather than 'May' as stipulated, IMO. I find it hard to believe that Lucy would be such a stickler that she wouldn't accept a little poetic licence.

Jayne

Ah, but we're not dealing with Lucy here, Jayne (nudge, nudge).

The competition asks for "a poem of 14 lines, please, with these words as the rhymes". The fact is that "abstains" and "stains" are two completely different words. Otherwise, we could use "constrains" instead of "rains", "dismay" instead of "may", and so on. I hope for the best for Roger, but fear the worst.

I would tend to side with Roger here. In sestinas, such creative puns are encouraged, provided they are a recognised syllable. So whereas constrains would be no good for rains I reckon abstains is ok for stains
(Okay, it's not a sestina, but you get the picture)

Though as Jayne says, the past history of the judges would be more informative as to whether words qualify, rather than my opinion.

"Ah, but we're not dealing with Lucy here, Jayne (nudge, nudge)."

Oops, wrong judge - silly me! (Thanks, Brian.) I'm just an incurable optimist so I prefer to believe that Tessa won't be too pedantic about the inventive use of some of the words.

Jayne

My guess would be that if she really enjoys the poem and would otherwise be eager to publish it (something I do not assume to be the case) then she will be flexible enough not to be a complete stickler. But since I've never won an Oldie competition, I'm not optimistic about my chances even leaving aside the technical question of whether I'm disqualified for breaching the rules.

Okay, I already sent the first version in (since I tend to forget to submit if I don't do it right away), but I suppose I can still send in a substituted version. Does this one work? (The sestet is unchanged).

The Rain In Spain

The rain in Spain falls mainly on the plains,
But I intend to find out one fine day
Just why the rain's resolved to stay away
From mountains, and what sorry falsehood stains
Their reputation that the clouds take pains
To pass them by in April or in May?
Whatever game the Spanish raindrops play
Is different from the game of English rains.

If Spain has different raindrops, are its leaves
As well distinct? Its stars? Its moons? Its suns?
(My questions multiply to fill vast sheaves
And new ones venture forth with every breath!).
In fair Pamplona, where the great bull runs,
Is there no rain, just blood and sand and death?

Well - sorry Roger but in Pamplona not one, but many, great bulls run - not bulls run! And yes, I think that Brian is right. The terms of the competition are quite clear - so much so that I had to avoid "sun's", as even an apostrophe would have been illicit. It matters not what poets do/have done in the literary past; it's all down to the rules - and the judge, which is why, in the end, these things can never be more than "just a bit of fun" - although they do mean that someone, somewhere, has actually been obliged to read and think about, if only for a fleeting moment or two, what one has written. That is a kind of compensation, whatever happens in the results.

"The terms of the competition are quite clear - so much so that I had to avoid "sun's", as even an apostrophe would have been illicit."

But you don't know this for certain, Nigel. A bit of leniency might be acceptable. I'm going to try to find out where we stand on this one. I'll report back if I do!

(Personally, I'd have thought sun's was another good example of inventiveness.)

Jayne

Kind of you to try, Jayne - but I am, perhaps unwisely, satisfied with my solution. Although I do agree with your flattering opinion, and quite admired my own deft touch - until I thought that accepting the challenge of the rules might actually be more interesting! Who knows?

I took the strict constructionists to heart and posted a revised version a little bit up the page (#24).

The Mars Rovers

Rolling across the canyons and the plains,
inspecting clay and crater night and day,
robotically steered, they toil away
beneath red skies, past rocks with ruddy stains
yet never weary nor feel the slightest pains
in camera, wheel, or radio. Our May
is coming soon when we will dine and play
and work beyond Earth’s blizzards, droughts, and rains,
and say in homage as our starship leaves
this world for worlds that orbit distant suns,
toting our tales contained in a trillion sheaves,
further and further from Sol’s warming breath:
“Once ramblers, rattling on their dusty runs,
had searched for life so we could sidestep death.”

Right, folks, I've just spoken to Hannah at The Oldie and she's going to email Tessa to find out whether or not any leeway is permissible on suns/sun's, May/may, stains/abstains etc.

Hannah will let me know Tessa's response and then I'll let you know; it might be on Monday, she said, but there's no immediate rush as the comp has only just come out.

If, like me, you haven't started working on your bouts rimés yet, you might want to wait till we know Tessa's verdict :)

Jayne

Come to Stains
 

Come to Stains

You've walked on Chobham Common's plains,
you've wandered Thorpe Park for a day:
but these delights must fall away
as losers when compared to stains.
[Oh] Staines-cum-Staines-'on-Thames, where pains
dissolve as like the frost come May,
where tasteful types prefer to play
in God's own land; it never rains,
and him who comes, but seldom leaves,
shines brighter than one-hundred suns,
his listed pleasures come to sheaves.
And this is yours - no bated breath -
how sweet the gift that never runs
out. Come to Staines, enjoy your death.

Well, if I were judging the competition, then (apart from the fact that I would give myself a prize), I would allow "suns/sun's" and "May/may" since they are the same words, but not "stains/abstains".

But I'm not judging it, so Tessa may not only allow "abstains", but also fail to give me a prize.

P.S. Would bouts rimés be an acceptable substitute for May?

Thanks for all your efforts, Jayne.

I'm still trying to figure out if I should go with my "fixed" version, or perhaps stick with the original with the thought that I might actually get extra credit for coming up with "abstains" instead of "pains" (if the answer doesn't come back that it's strictly forbidden).

Hang in there, Bob! I'll report back the minute I hear anything :)

Jayne

PS I think you meant to put "coming up with "abstains" instead of "stains"

You can go with both, Roger. There is no limit to the number of entries you can send.

Possibly stupid questions from one who's never met The Oldie in person:

Are these contests explicitly or by precedent for exclusively HUMOROUS poems?

Are The Oldie's circulation, readership, and staff exclusively UK?

(I had fun writing my entry above--and am having fun struggling with attempt #2--but I'm wondering if I should even waste an e-stamp on sending 'em a maudlin sonnet on the Donner Party...)

Not exclusively, but humour helps. Some of the winners in this month's vegetables competition were not really humorous. I know Australians who get the Oldie, but most of the subscribers are British of course. And most are old, as you might expect.

Simon,
I enjoyed your "maudlin" sonnet on Donner Party. It made me think of Robert Service poetry, but on a more elevated (no pun intended) Keatsean plane.
I would suspect that the Donner Party story is known to educated Britons. PBS aired an excellent documentary on the Donner Party about 10 years ago, and maybe the BBC has run it.
So, why not submit it?

Thanks, John & Douglas. I did already submit, of course. I'm just looking in advance for a defensive rationalization as to why my (searing, American) brilliance doesn't take first prize. I actually did think of the rain in Spain, like Roger, but didn't try that poem; he has captured the territory now. I think maybe a comic effort on the Donner Party will be my third try. As Oedipus and Marx both knew, farce and tragedy are practically the same--not least when there's cannibalism.

A little boast from moi: I've increased the circulation of The Oldie some, by giving gift subscriptions to several US poets of my acquaintance, so the circulation of the magazine isn't wholly in the UK, Simon. The staff all work in their London office though.

Good luck with your entries.

As is my generous nature, if any of you 'over there' have success with an Oldie comp and you're not a subscriber, let me know your address and I'll post you a copy of the magazine with your winning poem in it! No, I'm not on commission, honestly :)
(You may also get one sent to you with your cheque, though cashing the cheque can be a problem; it might end up costing you more than the prize is actually worth.)

Jayne