A win for John! Congratulations, my friend, and well done to Gail, Martin P, Martin E and Bazza for Hon Menshes.
(Next comp on new thread)
Jayne
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxThe Oldie Competition
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxby Tessa Castro
IN COMPETITION NO 173 it was back to
bouts-rimés. The rhymes came from the A E Housman verses beginning: ‘For these of old the trader / Unpearled the Indian seas.’
Metre let down quite a few entrants, but many deserved to win even though the challenge was not as easy as it seemed. The most troublesome rhyme word was ‘nard’, and several competitors hoped to adjust it to Cunard, canard, Reynard or even Rennard (the lively peer).
Gail White sailed over the jumps with a tale of a Spanish lover. Martin Parker’s subject was a vulpine City trader. Basil Ransome-Davies touched on cannibalism, a surprisingly common theme. The nard attracted some retellings of the anointing of the feet of Jesus. From Patrick Bennett I learnt that matweed is an ingredient of nard. The best of Martin Elster’s entries told of a spaceman’s love for a robot. Commiserations to these, and congratulations to those below, each of whom wins £25, with the bonus prize of a Chambers Biographical Dictionary going to Penelope Woolley.
Now, by this man (we thought him just a trader)
Menelaeus’ queen was borne off o’er the seas.
The shame if it! Our pride was at the nadir;
Although ’twas whispered she was one of these
Who strays – young men became quite pale and haggard
From her wiles. The king grew wrathful, ranted, hurled
Wild imprecations at the rape: ‘I’m staggered!
Scurvy Trojans think they own the world!
To war! Our honour never must be tarnished!
Sharpen up your spears! Away! Away!’
Thus soon our sails were set, our altars garnished,
‘Gods go with you,’ said our wives, as they
Watched sadly while the sacrifice was eaten.
O the war was long; however you regard
The cause, no songs of gallantry could sweeten
Corpse-pyres reeking through the scent of nard.
Penelope Woolley
Two thousand years ago a Syrian trader
hauled into port from battling Eastern seas;
his heart was heavy – he had reached his nadir;
he’d never known hard times so bad as these.
His ship was berthed. With features gaunt and haggard
his curses to the gods above he hurled,
as to a nearby dockside inn he staggered,
swearing his enmity against the world.
Sitting hunched o’er a goblet, dull and tarnished,
his mind, concerned with debts, was far away
but slowly noticed dishes, spiced and garnished,
brought to a crowded table: jovial they.
A woman entered when the men had eaten,
taking no notice of their shocked regard,
but knelt before one. With faint smile to sweeten
she bathed his feet in contrite tears – and nard.
Anne Wild
I am a Deaths-Head trader
And I sailed the seven seas,
From the zenith to the nadir,
Seeking islands like to these.
Where the hooded Harpies haggard
Hung and hurricanoes hurled,
Where the Devils stamped and staggered
In the morning of the world,
Where sad Reputation tarnished
Snored his seeling night away,
Long John Silver, battle garnished,
Shares their fellowship. For they
Who the asphodel have eaten,
Live again in high regard,
Where Pacific breezes sweeten,
Breathing cassia, balm and nard.
John Whitworth
Some men are born to be a freelance trader,
Bold, venturesome; some sail the seven seas;
Some reach their zenith; some achieve their nadir;
Some burn, some freeze; but I’m not one of these.
Some wear the look – resolved, austere and haggard,
Of pioneers and heroes who have hurled,
Defiance at the odds-against and staggered,
By charismatic force, the watching world.
That’s not me either. I’m more: slightly tarnished,
But mostly decent. I don’t play away
Or tell lies for advantage. I’m not garnished,
With trophies, just with trusted friends, and they,
Quite average themselves, are never eaten
With envy if I prosper. I regard
The ups and downs of life as games that sweeten
My days, like two old Parsees playing nard.
G M Davis
The Oldie bouts-rimés results
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