[lit-ideas] Re: Bad Poetry Competition 2011
- From: Donal McEvoy <donalmcevoyuk@xxxxxxxxxxx>
- To: lit-ideas@xxxxxxxxxxxxx
- Date: Wed, 8 Jun 2011 11:17:00 +0100 (BST)
Robert, of these two the first seems to me the genuine article, having more
'poetic quality': in particular,
"from winter’s cellar
when the snow leaks gold
around the edges of the barn’s
long shadows redgold"
is evocative and I think we can explain the poetic sense of how "snow leaks
gold". (Neither entry btw is crass and misbegotten as, say, "Look" imo, which
is lacking much 'poetic quality' and which seems premised on the witless
assumption that many great minds thought that the visible world is the measure
of all things or were blind to the fact there is unhappiness and happiness in
life [thanks, "See", to the poet for pointing that out] - and my own interest
is particularly in two entries whose quality is sorely lacking).
If it is (1), that may be because the rules were read as saying 'the genuine
article' should be numbered (1) - they were not, as that would give the game
away too easily. So, to be clear, the 'genuine article' need not be numbered
(1). It may be numbered (2) of two.
To advance things, I suggest that entrant's may put in one 'genuine article'
poem (or excerpt) and one _or more_ made-up 'alternatives'. Also, the
alternatives, as stated, do not need to resemble in theme etc. the 'genuine
article' but may be entirely different a kind of purported poetry. If someone
can provide 5 choices from which no one [googling aside] can detect which is
the 'genuine article' then that may tell us something - even if it is only that
we are poor readers or that the 'genuine article' is a poor work.
If I am wrong and (2) is the 'genuine article', then I still think (1) is
better. Which is, perhaps, quite interesting. Maybe Mike is right and Robert
simply has the poetic touch even when not trying.
Of course, the forensically trained mind might say that by duplicating one
entry you also revealed which was the genuine one.
Donal
Columbo fan
London
--- On Wed, 8/6/11, Robert Paul <rpaul@xxxxxxxx> wrote:
Donal McEvoy wrote:
Entries (multiple entries allowed) should be presented one at a time and given
a title: e.g. "Look".
The entry should then consist of two parts
(1) A poem or an excerpt from a poem written by a poet.
(2) Something written by the entrant, which may bear some resemblance or no
resemblance to what is written by the poet.
The aim of the competition is to make it difficult to guess which of the two is
the real poet———————————————————————
Entries form Anon and Anon.
(1)
Bring me poppies from Ohio,
Love, from the green lawns
of Ashtabula,
poppies for May’s round dances, poppies
for our golden love, in Ashtabula,
until the petals fall and the June sun
broadens the leaves, their shade ,
the shaded summer cooling
again to the orangegold sunsets
from winter’s cellar
when the snow leaks gold
around the edges of the barn’s
long shadows redgold
in an Ohio fields.
Bring poppies for my mother
gold priestess of the cleansing
Ashtabula dawn
Bring the small explosions
far-off sounds
of the Ohio dead
sleeping under the false burning
the false red the false stars
in the false night
of Ashtabula.
(2)
Pick me poppies in Ohio,
mother.
Pick me poppies in the back yard
in Ashtabula.
May going, poppies coming, summer humming:
make it a poppy summer, mother; the leaves
sing in the silk, the leaves sing a tawny
red god; seven sunsets saved themselves
to be here now.
Pick me poppies, mother, go, May; wash me,
summer; shoot up this back yard in Ashta-
bula , shoot it up, give us a daylight fire-
works in Ohio, burn it up with tawny red
gold.
(2)
Bring me poppies from Ohio,
Love, from the green lawns
of Ashtabula,
poppies for May’s round dances, puppies
for our golden love, in Ashtabula,
until the petals fall and the June sun
broadens the leaves, their shade ,
the shaded summer cooling
again to the orangegold sunsets
from winter’s cellar
when the snow leaks gold
around the edges of the barn’s
long shadows redgold
in an Ohio fields.
Bring poppies for my mother
gold priestess of the cleansing
Ashtabula dawn
Bring the small explosions
far-off sounds
of the Ohio dead
sleeping under the false burning
the false red the false stars
in the false night
of Ashtabula.
—————
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