[John Samson]

http://www.first-scottish.co.uk/the-referendum-rant/

Sorry if this is already on Eratosphere. The link is to a poetry competition inviting contestants to give a Robert Burns take on the forthcoming Scottish Independence Referendum. Cash prizes, presumably in whatever currency us Scots vote for.

[Chris O'Carroll]

Thanks for posting news of this competition, John. The Spectator had a recent comp calling for poems on the referendum in the style of William McGonagall, but this is a horse of a whole different color, or a tartan of a whole different design.

As I read the competition announcement, the organizers mention Burns but don't actually ask that entries be written in imitation of his style. Do you have reason to believe that Burns pastiche is what they're looking for?

Two things in the announcement give me pause:

Any metrical form is welcome – the ballad stanza, rhyming couplets, iambic pentameters, free verse are all welcome options.

Surely they don't think that free verse is a metrical form?

More recently the [group behind this comp] sponsored the Reboot of Tam o’Shanter, attracting nearly 80 poems from all over the world, almost certainly a record for a poetry competition.

Can they really be so out of touch with the universe of poetry competitions that they believe 80 entries comes anywhere close to being a record?

[Matt Q]

Perhaps logically it could be argued that free verse is a metric form in the sense that it's form is defined in terms of the absence of metre, it's the null case But I doubt that's what they were thinking, more likely the person writing the blurb wasn't a poet.

I think the 'record' they're claiming has to do with the length of the poems in that competition, since the poets were asked to rewrite Burns' Tam O' Shanter: On the page for that competition they state: "Nearly 80 contributions were received of over 300 pages, making the competition a candidate for the Guinness book of records. The winners and all contributions were published on Facebook." But that claim doesn't make too much sense either, I guess.

You can find the winners of the Tam O' Shanter competition here on Facebook. I had a quick look, I wouldn't say the quality struck me as great, but those are long poems; that's an awful lot of rhyming couplets -- and as I say, I only had a quick look at a couple.

Anyway, at least there are six prizes ranging from £25 to £300, and they seem to have a reasonable set of judges.

[Graham King]

From the brief given on that link, it seems clear that:

-The poem is to be what 'someone like Burns alive today' might write re the impending constitutional change;
obviously, open to wide interpretation!
-It need not emulate Burns' style, language, form or metre.
-It could be long (cf Tam O'Shanter) but need not be (and probably ought not to be that long!)
-It can argue on either side of the debate, or be even-handed.
-'Give us something new.'

So basically anything poetic whatsoever that pertains overall to the matter in hand and is fresh, not hackneyed, appears to be invited.

[John Whitworth]

If you want to win anything then you had better be FOR Scottish Independence. No-one on the other side will win a brass bawbee. How do I know? The names of the guys mentioned tells me. And one hundred and fifty lines? You have to be joking.

Having said that I have something that might do.

[John Whitworth]

Here is something sent to Lucy which you might be interested to see:

Help !
Dear Lucy,
Thank you for your past help in publicising Tam o' Shanter reboot , and I wonder if I can once again enlist your help .

I sent you details of a new competition ,The Referendum Rant (Rules etc attached) requesting views on the forthcoming referendum in Scotland, in verse.
Since the competition was launched at the beginning of April we have had over 40 entries but the standard , frankly , has been disappointingly low . Now we know from the experience of the Tam-o'-Shanter reboot that there are some very good poets out there , but we are just not reaching or inspiring them.

We have extended the closing date to September 8 and I just wonder if a puff from you might get the ink running.

Very grateful if you could do something .

So many thanks

Best wishes

Hugh


Hugh Lockhart
10 London Street
Edinburgh
EH3 6NA
0131 556 3743

Come along now. All he has is a load of rubbish. Time foor us to slip in. And we've got till September!

[John Whitworth]

How about this then?

The Noble Thing

...think fredome mair to prys
Than all the gold in warld that is.

John Barbour: The Brus

We saw the invaders' fires in the valley.
Their impious revels borne upon the breezes
Stank in our nostrils like their rotting cheeses.
At last we had no time to shilly-shally.
Their devils' fires were burning in the valley.

We were the architects of our calamity.
We had felt the iron fingers on our collars
And paid a strong sufficiency of dollars
To co-exist in spurious amity
As willing architects of our calamity.

They are come to desecrate our ancient places,
They are come to turn free people into chattels,
Too numerous to defeat in open battles,
This gallimaufry of gross, alien faces
That spit upon our ancient, holy places.

They will not see us watching from the shadows.
They will not see us crouched above the treeline.
Our counter-moves are feral, secret, feline.
To trap the rats that swarm upon our meadows,
And, one-by-one, to slay them in the shadows,

To drag them from the feasting and the laughter,
Rip out their throats and leave them staring, tearing
At fickle life that flits away uncaring
Back to the doleful dark before and after,
Far from the fires, the feasting and the laughter.

We thought we were too feeble to resist them.
They came with promises and civil speeches.
Like wolves they raven and they suck like leeches,
Like viruses they paralyse the system.
We thought we were too feeble to resist them

We were the architects of our calamity.
We sold our children and our children's children,
And grovelled in the temples of the heathen,
Prostrate in our pusillanimity,
The willing architects of our calamity.

If we must die then let it be for Freedom,
With all the benison of blood can give us,
The rolling wheatfields and the tumbling rivers,
The silver sands about our golden kingdom.
For Freedom. Die for Freedom. Die for Freedom..

[Brian Allgar]

That's a splendid piece, John. But ... errr ... is it about the Referendum? It sounds a bit like a replay of the Battle of Culloden. Still, that makes it a lot less boring and a lot more fun than a Referendum.

[Graham King]

Originally Posted by John Whitworth

How about this then?

The Noble Thing

...think fredome mair to prys
Than all the gold in warld that is.

We saw the invaders' fires in the valley.
Their impious revels borne upon the breezes
Stank in our nostrils like their rotting cheeses.
At last we had no time to shilly-shally.
Their devils' fires were burning in the valley.

We were the architects of our calamity.
We had felt the iron fingers on our collars
And paid a strong sufficiency of dollars
To co-exist in spurious amity
As willing architects of our calamity.

They are come to desecrate our ancient places,
They are come to turn free people into chattels,
Too numerous to defeat in open battles,
This gallimaufray of gross, alien faces
That spit upon our ancient, holy places.

They will not see us watching from the shadows.
They will not see us crouched above the treeline.
Our counter-moves are feral, secret, feline.
To trap the rats that swarm upon our meadows,
And, one-by-one, to slay them in the shadows,

To drag them from the feasting and the laughter,
Rip out their throats and leave them staring, tearing
At fickle life that flits away uncaring
Back to the doleful dark before and after,
Far from the fires, the feasting and the laughter.

We thought we were too feeble to resist them.
They came with promises and civil speeches.
Like wolves they raven and they suck like leeches,
Like viruses they paralyse the system.
We thought we were too feeble to resist them

We were the architects of our calamity.
We sold our children and our children's children,
And grovelled in the temples of the heathen,
Prostrate in our pusillanimity,
The willing architects of our calamity.

If we must die then let it be for Freedom,
With all the benison of blood can give us,
The rolling wheatfields and the tumbling rivers,
The silver sands about our golden kingdom.
For Freedom. Die for Freedom. Die for Freedom..

A piece that carries conviction, John. I like the style. Of course it is partisan. I reckon such a historic view may sit well with the judges if they are indeed determinedly 'pro' (Yes) - even if not to the taste of total possible readership!

A few quibbles (my attention to these details a mark of esteem!):

1. The title and prefatory quotation I have traced without difficulty to poem 'The Brus' (The Bruce) written around AD 1375 by John Barbour, Archdeacon of Aberdeen. Might a footnote to accompany the poem, giving that attribution, assist some of its destined eventual readership? Or maybe these words are known widely enough; I'm not sure.

2. Spelling - gallimaufry (not 'gallimaufray' - unless that was a coining of yours so as to incorporate 'fray', as in combat; affray?)
Incidentally, which I found of interest: Collins Concise defines it as 'a jumble; hotchpotch. [C16: < F gallimaufrée ragout, hash, <?] Something then not unlike haggis?!

3. 'Like viruses they paralyse the system.' - To me 'viruses' is an anachronism in this piece. Perhaps 'Like pestilence they paralyse the system.' ? But also, do viruses (or pestilence) generally paralyse? Some cause fever and trembling: arguably, a heightened rather than suppressed activity of the [bodily] system! So maybe...
'Like pestilence they permeate the system.' ...
'Like pestilence, that preys upon the system.' ...
'Like pestilence imperilling each citizen.' ?
[and in that last, imperilling scansion too?]

4. 'With all the benison of blood can give us,' - The 'of' confused me at first. I would more easily have read 'With all the benison which blood can give us,'. Then I understood better (I think) your intent: 'With all [that=which]' (the word being implicit, elided) 'the benison of blood can give us,'.
But... how readily is blood shed seen as a benison? A blessing?
Of course your intent may be a dark sarcasm here.
Still, I wonder whether 'With all that benison which blood can give us,' or 'With all of benison [which (implicit, elided)] this blood can give us,' - or some other variant - may have merit for clarity and impact.

Or maybe there is no problem with it 'as is', and I make something of nothing!
If so, please excuse my gallimaufry of words and accept my benison!

[John Whitworth]

Thank you, Graham.

I will correct the spelling mistake.

The poem is well known in Scotland. It was in a stained glass window in my school, or part of it. Perhaps I ought to attribute it.

Freedom from oppression comes only with the shedding of blood. Or at least the narrator of the poem thinks so. The poem is fairly bloodthirsty. Do I believe it? Not really. I incline to the quisling view, as will the Scots in the referendum.

I want something that does paralyse the system. What does?

Brian. you haven't been following the rhetoric. I hardly blame you. Mr Salmond has his claymore drawn. And the battle is Bannockburn. The Scots won that one with great slaughter/