New Statesman -- updated poem winners
 

The NS has published the results of Competition No 4294, the updated poem comp. Although this is the comp that ushered in the rule against posting entries here ahead of time, being a member here does not seem to have been a liability. We took three of the four prizes. Carolyn Thomas-Coxhead wins the Tesco vouchers for her version of the Prologue to Chaucer's Canterbury Tales. Other winners are Peter Goulding (Yeats's He Wishes for the Cloths of Heaven), Brian Allgar (Carroll's You Are Old, Father William), and Lydia Shaxberd (Milton's On His Blindness).

Two of Martin Parker's entries got hon menshes (as did one each by George Boyd and Alanna Blake).

Now that the magazine has published, I presume it's OK to share entries here, so I invite all the winners to post their poems or to give me the go-ahead to post them.

How very tiresome for everyone, Chris, and you particularly. I do hope that Vicky comes to her senses, or at any rate to yours.

Although it might be better to be able to see all the Sphere winners in a single post, I hesitate to make more work for you, so here is mine:

(Lewis Carroll: “You are old, Father William”)

“I am old, Mr. Cameron”, the invalid said,
“And I’m losing the use of my legs,
Yet I’m taxed on my room with its medical bed -
Was it your wicked notion, or Clegg’s?”

“You are married and childless,” the PM replied,
“One bedroom’s enough for you both.
We are sick of you taking us all for a ride
With your whining, your greed and your sloth.”

“But, sir,” said the cripple, “I really can’t walk,
And a separate bedroom’s a must.”
“What tripe!” cried the Leader. “Enough of such talk
When the country is practically bust ...

Though if you’re a terrorist bent on expansion,
We’ll happily give you a twelve-bedroom mansion.”

Yes, I hope this all gets ironed out pronto.
And here's mine:

A Tale of Today, with apologies to Galfrido Chaucer

Whan that October with his eveninges longe
The days of Somer hath ychased – al gone –
And faste by fires and supping drinkes warm
And watchyng Downton Abbeye, faire to scorn,
(In which a cliché’s found in everyche scene,
And folke ymarvel at its plotlines greene);
When Guido Fawkes hath yet to feel his fyres
Al heaped so highe in sondry towns and shires
And Poppyes rest unsold in Legion’s chests,
Thanne longen folk to think of other fests
And booke their Christmas Partyes while they can,
(Since erlye booking’s counselled by al man)
And wending to the shoppinge malles begin
To purchase Cards and Yftes for kith and kin.

Thanks, Brian. I may be acting over-cautious to the point of silliness, but my goal for now is to inform everybody as completely as possible about the comps without presenting the information in a format that mimics the magazine's.

And thanks to you, too, Carolyn. Looks like you and I cross-posted.

Chris, one thing that you might usefully add is the prize amount, since Vicky seems to flit from twenty quid to twenty-five to thirty and back, depending no doubt on her mood and the weather. (Although I once got the Tesco vouchers accompanied by a measly £15.)

Actually, I have the impression that it is based on a total budget of £100, so logically the winners should have got £25 this week, but I could be wrong.

Thanks for that Chris. Here's my effort.

He wishes for the cloths of heaven

Had I a pair of Nike Air Max runners,
incorporating tonal mesh and blue satin tongue,
the prince of all looped lace-eyelet runners,
beloved by the young, the old and the half-young,
I would leave them showily under your feet.
But I, being poor, have only second-hand Asics.
I have left my Asics under your seat.
Sniff lightly or you’ll smell my Asics.

Brian's guess is correct. £25 to each winner this week.

Thanks for adding your poem, Peter.

As those who have seen the NS Competition page are aware, the prose or poetry comp usually appears wrapped around a photo caption comp. This week, while Carolyn was bagging the vouchers, her husband, Bill Thomas, was taking "Caption of the Week" top honors. So double congratulations to them.