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Speccie Competition Another Country
We were evrywhere. Bazza up the top with the extra fiver, Bill down the bottom with the world's smallest country, Martin Parker in the middle and even my good self (my fist success for six months and Thank you Brian Allgar for correcting my Franglais. Congratulations to Migel Mace and RobStuart who were crowded out at the finish.
Lucy Vickery 6 April 2013 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 Kelley’s hymn to Australia — ‘Oz, Oz, glorious Oz,/ Got-the-lot country if ever there was!’ — and was equally impressed by Nigel Mace, Rob Stuart and Charles Curran. The winners, below, earn £25. Basil Ransome-Davies takes £30. Michael Myers Leslie Nielsen Gotta love ’em, haven’t you? Raymond Burr and Leonard Cohen David Cronenberg woo-hoo. Céline Dion Joni Mitchell Donald Sutherland Lorne Green Not forgetting Mary Pickford Icons of the silver screen Also Fay Wray and Jim Carrey Gorgeous Susan Sarandon (Cut some slack for William Shatner) KD Lang …I could go on. Raise the sound of jubilation. Spread the word from here to Mars. Hail a procreative nation — Canada, the womb of stars! Basil Ransome-Davies Let’s wonder at but set aside The symphonies and lieder: Their qualities can’t be denied And need no special pleader. But when we view a later date, The twentieth-century story, What cause is there to celebrate, What earthly claim to glory? Yet by the century’s end there rose From hells of self-sown fire A settled state that thrives and grows, No longer a pariah. To overcome the Nazi shame And unify the nation, Deutschland demands ungrudged acclaim For peaceful re-creation. W.J. Webster Across La Manche, sud-ouest de Thanet, The finest country on the planet, (Not counting here of course), la France, Compound de cuisine et romance, La France, le plus beau pays du monde, Une nation witty yet profonde. Tous les enfants can quote Descartes Which shows how ils sont toujours smart. Très cultivés, leurs films et plays Deserving of the highest praise, Likewise leurs romans need no boost, Stendhal, Balzac, Flaubert, Proust, Les jolies femmes, quel sex-appeal! Les hommes, quel confidence et style! Ils even jouent le criquet, yes! Although (hélas!) sans much success. John Whitworth I write of reason’s hinterland, the land each dreamer knows And where I now feel most at home — it’s where the Bong Tree grows. Where all one’s goods can be contained in just a five pound note, And all its new arrivals fit in one small pea-green boat: Where politicians don’t exist and banks don’t make a killing, Where no one cares that GDP amounts to just one shilling: Where sandy beaches have no oil, no screaming kids or bars And songs are backed by nothing more than small non-amped guitars: Where cats and owls dance hand in hand replete on quince and honey — And those who write this kind of verse can all earn steady money. Martin Parker Unmountainous and unRomantic, no Baroque heavings, nothing frantic, a less flat cousin to the Dutch, rude like the French (though not as much), Belgium — Walloon and Flemish mix, Byzantine party-politics — this mini-paean is for you, tax-saviour of Depardieu. Beyond where Brel shaped chansons, and Breughel’s stout peasants trod the land, or Art Nouveau and Tintin flourished, or surreal swings of fancy nourished the wild imaginings of Magritte, or cooks pair mussels with les frites, your greatest national treasure’s here: over one thousand types of beer. D.A. Prince You have no army, weather’s balmy, No one picks a quarrel — Tuvalu, we long for you, Your blue lagoons and coral. Political parties? Quite unknown. Your PM’s independent — You have our Queen upon your throne, Her governor attendant. A pacific and Pacific style’s Your pleasure, free from grief: All smiles across nine tiny isles, With their atolls, and their reef. Your highest point is fifteen feet, Ten thou’s your population — Who couldn’t call you small and sweet? You are my favourite nation. Bill Greenwell |
My goodness! What a line-up! Congratulations to everyone.
(Pity that Allbrook/Holgar let the side down this week. Still, I can console myself with the thought that at least I gave John a small hand with the franglais.) Bill, I'd never even heard of Tuvalu. It looks delightful. Have you actually been there? |
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I'm afraid I'm not very well-travelled - and given the low level of Tuvalu, I may have to hurry if I want to see it. Or Nauru. (They were the Gilbert and Ellice Islands.) Bill |
I spent most of a day in Canada, nipping up from Vermont for a baseball game in Montreal, so I know all about it. I mean, it's not like I just googled 'famous Canadians'.
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My piece was almost entirely autobiographical -- a still vivid memoir of how this one cool cat danced hand in hand on a number of beaches with a very unlikely partner and a substance-induced disregard for reality. Honest, guv, she told me it was quince.
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Yes, well done to everyone, though frankly I'm despairing of ever being up with the big boys.
Still, at least I'm getting a long overdue education. Tuvalu, eh? |
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