The Oldie ''Meeting a Griffin" comp by 1st April
 

So, this time around we have to imagine that a creature with the body, tail and back legs of a lion, the head and wings of an eagle and an eagle's talons as its front feet – is real.
O…kay…!
I can safely predict that this will be another one I won’t win. :rolleyes: Over to the rest of you…

Jayne

The Oldie Competition
by Tessa Castro

Competition No 201

The other day I saw an old carving of a man between two griffins. What if they were real? Please write a poem called ‘Meeting a Griffin’. Maximum 16 lines.

Entries by post (The Oldie, 65 Newman Street, London W1T 3EG) or email comps@theoldie.co.uk to ‘Competition No 201 by 1st April 2016. Don’t forget to include your postal address.

I agree Jayne, I'll give it a go, but I doubt that I will be posting a winning entry to the Oldie!

I look forward to the Oldie prompts because they're always original and head-tweaking. I like a challenge that makes folk think.

And no - I have no ideas as yet. But I'm... thinking.

Lister did it. Met one, I mean - and this is what he said.

GRIFFIN

Griffin, Griffin all alone,
Lying on a sun-warmed stone,
Speak to me of all your lore -
What, O what, are Griffins for?

Are they beautiful or not?
Are they cold or are they hot?
Tell me, Griffin, grave of phiz,
Tell me what a Griffin is!

Stretching out your shiny claws
As acknowledging applause,
One green eye that greenly winks -
Tell me what a Griffin thinks!

On your stone stretched out at ease,
Free from toil and free from fleas,
You appear like one apart -
Has a Griffin got a heart?

Every Griffin I have known
Lay along a sun-warmed stone
Like a teapot on a shelf,
Being Griffin by itself;

Curling ear and barbèd tongue,
Griffin neither old nor young,
Griffin never in a rage,
Griffin wise and Griffin sage;

Ever Griffin, never-true,
Nothing wounds or touches you;
Griffin murmurs No offence -
Has a Griffin got no sense?

Griffin-brother, kin of mine,
I have learned the countersign.
I will join you on your stone,
Both together, both alone;

Neither young and neither old,
Neither hot and neither cold;
Tell me, Griffin, tell once more -
What, O what, are Griffins for?

Ah, that's lovely, Nigel. I haven't come across it before so thanks for posting it.

I'm thinking too... we have a local, very nice restaurant called The Griffin - Hmm, perhaps I need to be taken there for a meal, purely for research purposes, you understand.

This is what Vachel Lindsay said about it:

The moon? It is a griffin's egg,
Hatching tomorrow night.
And how the little boys will watch
With shouting and delight
To see him break the shell and stretch
And creep across the sky.
The boys will laugh. The little girls,
I fear, may hide and cry.
Yet gentle will the griffin be,
Most decorous and fat,
And walk up to the milky way
And lap it like a cat.

Although we modern folk agree
That griffins are a fantasy,
Belief in which is patently absurd,

The dinosaurs we call today
The Protoceratopsidae
Were griffinish, if there is such a word.

Might superstitious ancient man,
When mining gold in Kazakhstan,
Have dug a fossil beak up and inferred

The find, combined with humeri
And shards of rib inhumed nearby,
Evinced some preternatural mammal-bird?

Were I the Oldie's adjudicator, I probably wouldn't reward this gabmit, but I don't have a better idea, and H.G. Wells's Invisible Man was named Griffin.

When meeting Mr. Griffin, I
Felt just a tad bewildered by
His aspect, which was slightly dull;
In fact, he was invisible.

Although one doesn't wish to pry,
I found this strange; I asked him why,
And he admitted to be seen
He never had been very keen.

When hosting one so very shy,
Strict rules of etiquette apply.
Discreetly, so he shouldn't shrink
From me, I looked away--I think.

You never know, Max. Personally I thought your interpretation rather ingenious, and that last line is terrific.

Thanks, Rob. We'll see what Ms. Castro thinks.

“Oh really, Philip, you know We never
forget a face (well, most hardly ever)
but, since the Season has no proper dates,
We can’t recall all let in through the gates.

Now Will and Cambridge have at last appeared
with Charles and Cornwall and, much as We feared,
Our Andrew has another jade in tow -
at least one ‘face’ We won’t pretend to ‘know’.

There’s Cameron and Corbyn, each with spouse,
not both of whom, from tattle in the House,
thank God, are likely to last out the course.
Caligula, We hear, preferred a horse –
awkward as a Privy Council mascot,
better as a fit for Royal Ascot.
Which petty sneaking knave’s next in the queue?”

“Mr Nick Griffin.” “Ah - how do you do?”

Although I know that they never want titles, I shall think of this (pace Belloc) as "The Garden Party".

I heard a griffin opening its beak
About the specimen in Wonderland.
"Why ever Lewis Carroll made him speak
Like some plebeian, I don't understand.

Our hybrid nature makes us doubly proud
That we are placed above the common lot.
We hardly care to mingle with the crowd,
Deans' little girls and Turtles, Mock or not.

Dancing with lobsters? Totally absurd!
We have no wish at all to join quadrillers.
Half noble King of Beasts, half regal bird,
Our role's the stately topping of stone pillars."

Vachel Lindsay is an obvious winner. Can we enter him?

V L's poem was the original inspiration for Dylan T's "Do not go gentle...". Not a lot of people know that.

I didn't know that, Ann. I'm not sure I do now. How?

The thng to dwcide about griffins is - are they nice or nasty?

The thing to decide about griffins is - are they nice or nasty?

Have you looked at the Google images of griffins, John? They look absolutely terrifying... but there were some nice dragons, I believe, so you can't go by appearances alone.

All the same, I'm betting that griffins are mostly nasty creatures, so if you do meet one keep your wits about you.

Jayne

Lindsay's Griffin is nice, Jayne. So is Lewis Carroll's.

Just since John asked:

When you're introduced to griffins,
Etiquette must be observed,
For they're strong enough to eat you
And they're easily unnerved.

They appreciate a grovel,
They appreciate a gift –
Steaks will be politely eaten,
Roses eloquently sniffed.

Show a deferential bearing,
Just between respect and fear.
If the griffin softly crouches
You may gently scratch its rear.

You may tame it, you may ride it,
You may call it like a bird,
But you may not sell the story –
People won't believe a word.

Best so far, Gail - in fact, good enough to meet.

The lion glories on ensanguined plains,
Imprints his majesty with easy strains;
Much like the eagle who with piercing eyes,
From crag or castle, cleaves the liquid skies
Swifter than doves can move or darting grouse.

Since royals with royals mix of equal house,
Both natures crossed in chroniclers noble thought
To birth a beast that nature never wrought
Yet droves corroborate from pilgrimages
Whose self between the two supplied the bridges.
Like waves approaching upper, rocky puddles,
Memory merges pools and matter muddles.
.

I peeped through leaves of verdant green,
tiptoed on fairy feet,
praying I wouldn’t once be seen,
chewed into luncheon meat
by foulest creature, fierce and mean.

I’m blowed if I’ll be obsolete,
a heap of guts and spleen.
I prance right up, so indiscreet,
with derring-do my screen.
“How do you do, my dear,” I bleat.

I pray the thing will swoon and preen,
be indisposed to eat;
it speaks: “You’ve brought your Vaseline?”
I gaily send my tweet:
Who’s tweaked the sweetest griffin queen?

For boys and girls fresh out of class,
Relieved to be not in,
Who think a song helps time to pass
And play and myth no sin.
Come these soft lines with nothing stiff in,
With sylvan nymphs, a knight and griffin.
With a fa, la, la.

Throw out gray maps your teachers made;
I know the Middle Ages'
Show highlands' Griffin, seas' mermaid...
Where cherubs kiss the pages.
See lions' brawn and eagles' brow
There joined, but oh don't ask me how.
With a fa, la, la.

What in the class is held in doubt
Helps banish boredom when you're out.
With a fa, la, la.
k