[John Whitworth]

No they don't specify unpublished. Not anywhere nohow. But I wouldn't draw it to their attention.

[Orwn Acra]

Thanks, Jayne. I think snail mail might be appropriate because of my poem's idiosyncratic indentation.

[Jayne Osborn]

I remember from way, way back that no one's allowed to phone them about the competition, but I've come by this through a friend (and it came with this caveat):

Given that the award of even the runner-up prizes affords us the right to publish your work, it is assumed that any given poem has not already been published elsewhere.

Literary Review/Night and Day
Grand Poetry Competition

Rules

1. Entries must rhyme, scan and make sense on the subject set for the month.

2. No charge is made for entering. The monthly first prize is £300 and the second prize is £150; all other poems printed earn their authors £10. Each year there is a grand poetry prize in which the poem considered the best over the past year receives £5,000.

3. Maximum number of lines per poem: 24.

4. Only two poems may be entered per person per month.

5. All entries must be typed and arrive by the deadline indicated, and every poem must carry the author’s name and address.

6. Only those living abroad may send poems by fax (00 44 20 7734 1844) or email (editorial@literaryreview.co.uk).

7. Whenever possible, poems accompanied by a stamped self-addressed envelope will be returned. If you wish to safeguard your work, we recommend that you make a copy before sending the poem to us.

9. The panel’s decision is final.

10. Parody and pastiche of well-known poets, unless requested, are not eligible for first prize, but may be considered for second or subsequent prizes.

11. Payment of even £10 buys publication rights in Literary Review and non-exclusive anthology rights in any Literary Review anthology.

12. No poet may telephone Literary Review with regard to the competition.

[John Whitworth]

They say that they must have the right to publish but why should previous publication invalidate that?

[Jayne Osborn]

To be fair, John, it is pretty common for comp entries to need to be previously unpublished. But, as you said earlier, if it's not drawn to their attention...

[Lance Levens]

Fleeing Johnny

(The Flea answers Donne)

Ok--let's get this straight. Your blood, her blood
in my blood? Can we say crowded, Johnny Boy?
And just forget the question of good
vs. bad, that you've been treating her like a toy--

no, forget that. Let's talk hygiene.
Do you have any notion where this girl
slept last week? I don't want to wax obscene
but just because you run across a pearl

you fancy doesn't mean you've got to reach
out and man handle it. What if she's come
from Madagascar where she lived on a beach,
with sailors and soldiers or some Papist bum?

Are you even listening to me? " Bite us," (you prick!).
"her, then me, so I can write some sexy verse."
I'm outta here, my friend. You are seriously sick.
And don't ask the spider. He'll cop your purse.

[John Whitworth]

Good man. Animals may well be the way to go. But here's mine, which is human.

The Traveller

Jesus, who would shoot the breeze
Talking to a bunch of trees?
I was – I admit it – plastered
When you anted up, you bastard,
When you wrote the cheque, post-dated.
Now your credit’s zero-rated.
Friend, your outlook’s far from sunny
Since you gave me funny money.

Then you said you’d make it right
In the middle of the night.
Some things are beyond a joke.
I’m a decent sort of bloke.
I suppose you thought perhaps
I was like those other chaps,
Easy come and easy go.
But you’ll see it isn’t so.

Now I’m off to feed the nag.
Put your money in a bag
And PAY THE BILL, that’s my advice.
I’ve got friends not half as nice,
Friends who do the sort of stuff
That is positively rough.
We’ll be back at sparrow fart
To break your legs and break your heart.

[FOsen]

Is Byron a character? I guess those who knew him would say so . . .

Byron, To Auden

Dear Wystan (is it Wystan? Is it Hugh?)
Thanks for your letter dated ‘thirty-six.
I’ll own, I’d have preferred a billet-doux,
accompanied by those referenced naked pics,
from some fair thing—still, nice to hear from you.
Before I get to art or politics,
let me explain and then apologize
for this, the most belated of replies.

In Purgatory, as Virgil first explained,
one wears one’s designated wreath—he, an
old laurel—me, some thorny, brown thing. Pained
to find such rules here, I conspired Promethean
revolt, though, as in Greece, I nothing gained.
But, being dead (and bled) already, Lethean
mail service was denied me for a spate,
and that’s why this arrives so late.

I like you, Hugh, so please forgive my screed,
but, God damn, man! Icelandic travelogues
won’t ever make a really ripping read
when mixed with duller parts from catalogs
and diaries. Hugh, you’re gifted, I concede,
but you’ve an eye out for the pedagogues.
If you can’t be a little more rake-helly,
please send your future posts to P.B. Shelley.

[Jayne Osborn]

Is Byron a character?

He undoubtedly was, Frank, but not 'a character from a well-known poem' as far as I'm aware.

[Roger Slater]

Hello, I'm Philip Larkin's dad.
There's nothing that he said that's true.
My son may have the faults I had,
But he has many virtues, too.

He's educated, super smart,
And famous for the verse he wrote.
In that I think I played a part.
He never thanked me or took note.

Mums and dads may raise a son
Whose books adorn a scholar's shelf,
And yet, when all is said and done,
His sole obsession is himself.