[Brian Allgar]

Mary,

As John says, you can use pseudonyms. I've won a few times under the name "Alban Girral", but I always put my real name in brackets after it.

My non-winning pseudonyms include Alan Birglar, Bill Arragan, Gina Barrall, Lara Labring, Ian R Graball, and Blair Raglan (no relation to either).

[Jerome Betts]

A.E.Housman rewrites Thomas Hardy's A Sheep Fair

In autumntime at Pummery
There comes the great sheep fair;
'Tis said there are ten thousand
In wet and woolly wear
As daylong rain falls there.

It drips from dogs and buyers,
The shepherds, who all smell,
Penned ewes with sponge-like fleeces,
Beard-wringing men as well
With sodden lots to sell.

The globe has turned full often
Since those doomed flocks were sold.
The auctioneer no longer
Is drenched and hoarse and cold
Snug in his bed of mould.

[basil ransome-davies]

Before I read this, Jerome, I'd have thought that Housman & Hardy were a little too close in some poetic/affective ways to make the intriguing pastiche required by the comp successful. Chase me, I was wrong. Nice work.

[Jerome Betts]

Thanks, Basil, very much appreciated.

Think I learnt a little more about A Sheep Fair, one of my Hardy favourites, from this exercise. Somehow the other way round, Housman to Hardy, seems more of a challenge.

Re the similarities, the last two stanzas of TH's 'Retty's Phases' have what may be echoes of AEH's 'Bredon Hill'. Apparently Hardy's favourite Housman poem was 'Is my team ploughing'.

However, we'll have to see how 'Lucy's Fancies' apply in this case.

[basil ransome-davies]

Yes, no one can second-guess Lucy. In my mind I win every week; not in hers.

[Brian Allgar]

You took the words out of my mouth, Basil.

Man proposes;
Lucy disposes.

[Brian Allgar]

(Coleridge’s version of Philip Larkin’s “This be the verse”)

This be the Rime

It is an ancient Poet,
And he stoppeth one of four;
The Wedding-Guest is rather pressed,
But can’t escape the bore.

“My wretched Mum drank too much rum,
Which led to my conception,
For she and Dad were very bad
At using contraception.

So they did swive, and I’m alive,
Though not of my own choosing;
I blame them still for every ill,
Especially my boozing.

He thinketh best who drinketh least,
Yet, shoudst thou crave a ‘bender’,
O Wedding-Guest! Be careful lest
A Poet thou engender!”