Speccie - Non-verbal communication
 

Non-verbal communication? Don't I get enough of that from my kids? (I hear you say).

But seriously folks-- I'm talking about the latest Speccie.

No. 2607: Non-verbal communication
You are invited to submit a piece of verbless prose (150 words maximum). Entries to ‘Competition 2607’ by midday on 29 July or email lucy@spectator.co.uk Please note the earlier than usual closing date.


OK, I know it's not poetry--but I thought y'all might find it interesting. After all, didn't Gertrude Stein say poetry was about the noun, fiction about the verb? Or was it the other way around? :confused:

Anyway, since I, no doubt like the rest of you, have so much time to waste, I took a whack at it.

*************

“Yes. Dead people. Real as life. And not like that kid in The Sixth Sense: ghosts with a need for closure, for vindication. Mine—well. . . not exactly evil or malevolent. More—ominous. Threatening—”

“How often?”

“All the time. At the office. On the street. In my bedroom at night--”

“Any unusal problems lately—work, family, relationships?”

“Nothing, really. Um...except the car accident.”

“Ah! Sometimes physical or emotional trauma—in your case, both—

“No! Oh God! None of my friends, my family, not even my girlfriend-- Please, doctor! My only hope--"

"Yes, yes, of course, son. Nurse?”

“Yes, doctor.”

“5 mg of thiopental, please—

“No!”

“There, there, my friend. . . no pain…"

“NOOOOOOOOO. . . . . ”

Brilliant, Marion! I was too thick to see what she was after. I think I'll have a go. I think.

Dreary day again. More of the same. Bad pianists, worse singers for hours and hours. A prize for the least boring. So many ambitious fools. The adjudicator? Me. Why? Bottom of the list. For prestige? Not for money.

Für Elise again and again. Liszt Hungarian Rhapsodies for eight hands. Eight feet more like.

Fat wobbly sopranos, fruity contraltos, thin tenors, foggy baritones.

Women with too much eye makeup and guitars. Spanish medleys.

Thin adenoidal children in duets by Arthur Sullivan. Musical monologues in costume.

Lunch with the professors. No alcohol.

Nice one Janet. It just occured to me that ANY list poem would do and, by the big toe of Wotan, I have plenty.

Good, Janet! I get the feeling you lived that one.

I think maybe mine reads more like a screenplay than prose. But dialogue without attribution sure can dispose of a lot of verbs!

Wondering if a good idea would be write about arm movements/signals - like that of an umpire, or whatever........(just a thought)

Marion,
Your piece is beyond brilliant. If it doesn't win there's something wrong with the system.
I was one of the pianist brats in local competitions. I have friends who acted as adjudicators. I never had that "honour";-)

This would count, wouldn't it?

Goods Trains 1955

Lunt, Lunt, Hickleton, Hickleton,
Ollershaw, Shufflewick, Skelmersdale, Ramsbottom,
Perks, Lunt, Wigglesworth, Battersby,
Partridge, McAllister, Hickleton, Small,
Swindell & Sattherswaite, Cartwright & Bounderby,
Harbottle-Felix, Mudassar & Duns,
Hutton, Northallerton, Pickering, Rollo,
McIver, Fitzwillam, Concannon & Sons.

Queen, Pope, Cardinal, Davenport,
Butler & Butler, O’Brien & Paterson,
Crooke, Toft, Longfellow, Longfellow,
Bastable, Slattery, Cummings & Ball.
Spillsbury-Nicholls, Upritchard, McAllister,
Potterton, Potterton, Potterton, Blow,
Hindenberg, Barber & Barber, De Freitas,
Antonio Brothers, Buchanan & Co.

As long as "Blow" isn't a verb ;-)

A Walk Through Night

Away from Man’s intrusion—
A world of dark and fusion.
No payments and no tickets
For thickets full of crickets,
For katydids and bats,
White moths and swarms of gnats,
Bullfrogs, sounds of splashes,
Fleeting meteor flashes,
Skunk cabbage, skunks, fern fronds,
Blithe fish in golf course ponds,
The night Terpsichore
Of a mockingbird, carefree
In maple, oak tree, pine,
Or hickory, the shine
Of Vega in the sky,
Red fox and firefly
In air or on the rug
Of green for vole and bug,
In the far-off twilight-din
Of the cosmic violin.

just saw this! fun.... I counted hyphenated words as individusal words and not as one. better stricter than.... (is there such a proverb? better safe than sorry, i spose.)
.



Out-of-breath Shani, and that slope again, or perhaps, as usual, the bus-stop at its peak; the sock with the hole in the toe [nuisance!] and her big toe flush against the seam of her shoe, the little stone in the shoe [drat!], the bag in her left hand so much lighter than the one in her right [annoyingly askew!], the sun’s blaze on much of her neck [because of the ponytail], and always, that last minute little thing, that any-second-now, that dash, the niggle of that back-of-the-mind thought: on time? not on time? Not a moment too soon; not a moment too late. All a matter of perspective: the subjective, or objective; the hopeless, or hopeful. Shani’s usual exchange of hellos and smiles, some travelers old friends already. Then relief, with the ‘plonk’ of Shani’s bags on the floor. Another workday over.
.

John, Martin--

Yes. I noticed that. Pity.

THE ASTRONAUT

Now in his cabin, the astronaut, with a small thought in his mind. An unsettling little thought. In his chair. Still on the ground at the Kennedy Space Center, Launch Pad 39A. Beyond the rocket’s tip: the moon, Mars, Jupiter, Orion, Arcturus, The Pleiades (that faint, scintillating open star cluster in Taurus). Soon, the countdown. Then into space atop millions of parts, in a rocket weighing 6.7 million pounds. But in the meantime, this unnerving notion: that each component of this rocket, from engine to each panel to each socket — in fact, every single piece, section, segment, module of this contraption — the best components? Why, no! The cheapest parts by the lowest bidder! Now in his cabin, the astronaut, with a small thought in his mind — “10, 9, 8 ...”

Yes, me too. But I was in denial about the prose part! Anyway, I came up with something about an astronaut (see post #14).

John,
I love all the train names! Were there really that many? Do any survive?
Hang on to it. Maybe a competition will come up where you can use it.

The age of the railroad here is virtually extinct. The old names were so romantic -- “The Empire Builder," “The California Zephyr” “The Texas Eagle” and of course the "City of New Orleans” forever immortalized by Arlo Guthrie. How sad.

Diana, that sounds like a great idea. Go for it!

Seree, Martin, good!

Keep 'em coming!

Marion, they're not trains. They're trucks, or do you say wagons? The wagons (trucks) belong to the people whose names are painted on the sides. There might be a hundred of them. I was what they call a train-spotter. The long goods train would be hauled (probably) by a black Stainier 8F 2-8-0 locomotive built originally for the London, Midland and Scottish railway but now belonging to British Railways. The names are redolent of the North, from which the train came or to which it was going. I was a London boy and that was all of the North I had ever seen.

Martin,
You haven't lost anything. You've just written a very good poem.

Same goes for John except he says it's an old one.

Thanks, Marion!

Yes, Di, it does sound like a good plan.

Thanks, Janet! You are right. And I had fun writing it.

Martin

Janet,

I like your "Dreary day again" story. It sounds autobiographical.

Martin, "to think" would probably be taken as a verb even if you meant it only as an interjection. Easy enough to change.

Enjoying everyone's, especially Marion's. This is harder than I thought. So far I have nothing.

Thanks, Bob. That verb-like interjection slipped in somehow. I'll remove it. Better to play it safe. I have a feeling you'll come up with something. Not much time left before the deadline, though.

Life good. Mama Kala much love in heart. Teeka nice girl. Cheetah good friend. Vine, river, splash—fun! But now—me different! Body not same. Strange feelings... Ooooh! Who that? Stranger! Girl -- like Teeka. But different-- more pretty! Nice smile. Strange talk. Who you? Strange name! Who me? Me Tarzan. You Jane.

omg ugg! [not to be confused with ugh. I've just come from the other one. the twittery. you go girl!]
aka
this is brill