The Brief
Take a character from any myth and write a poem from their perspective in any style or form. Myths are such overdone material for poetry, which will make this doubly hard.
50 lines maximum.
The Judge
Info from Wikipedia:
Roddy Lumsden (born 1966) is a Scottish poet. Lumsden was born in St Andrews. He received an Eric Gregory Award in 1991. His first book Yeah Yeah Yeah was shortlisted for the Forward Prize in the Best First Collection section. His second collection The Book of Love was a Poetry Book Society Choice and shortlisted for the T.S. Eliot Prize and The John Llewellyn Rhys Prize.
Roddy Lumsden is Dead followed in 2001, then Mischief Night: New & Selected Poems which was a PBS Recommendation. He lives in London where he teaches at City University and Morley College. He has done editing work on several prize-winning poetry collections and is currently editing the Pilot series of chapbooks by poets under 30 for Tall Lighthouse. He is organiser and host of the monthly reading series BroadCast in London.
Lumsden is former Vice Chairman of the Poetry Society of Great Britain. He was awarded an Arts Council of England International Fellowship at the Banff Centre in Ontario in 2001 and has also carried out several residency projects, including being poet-in-residence to the music industry and in a five-star hotel and golf resort. He works as a puzzle and quiz writer for BBC MindGames magazine.
His New and Selected, 'Mischief Night' is available from
amazon.co.uk and
amazon.com.
The Prizes
1st prize: $25 in lulu vouchers, 6 month subscription, 2 issues of Mimesis.
2nd prize: $25 in lulu vouchers, 3 month subscription, 1 issue of Mimesis.
3rd prize: 3 month subscription, 1 issue of Mimesis.
The Shortlisted with Judge's comments
*
RedDragonfly Ferryman
Ferryman
After they give me their coins they give me their lives-
the same way people confess all to cab drivers.
Every memory of love, faith, or despair they peel off
and drop into the bottom of the boat.
Heavy, some of those memories,
and the boat rides low in the dark water,
but it never tips. I pride myself on that.
And after all the crying, the laughing,
all the remembering
they walk away empty and free
onto the shore.
This was the first entry I read which didn't suffer one of the two main faults unconfident use of form (I like to see new writers trying out form, it just takes time to master) and overheightened, poetic language (the them of course led to writers risking the latter). I like the way this poem is quiet and to the point, the voice is believable, the regretful tone comes over but without unnecessary pathos. I like ' the boat rides low in the dark water, / but it never tips'. Good use of subtle half-rhymes
~
panika - Michal speaks to God for the first time
Michal speaks to God for the first time
And Michal Sauls daughter loved David: and they told Saul and the thing pleased him.
And Saul said, I will give him her, that she may be a snare to him, and that the hands of the Philistines may be against him. Wherefore Saul said to David, Thou shalt this day be my son in law in the one of the twain.
- I Samuel 18:20-21
Tonight I will take the train despite headlines. I will leave
pockets of perfume for riders who know the same brittle
language of khaki. I will write letters to Goliath, invitations
to my husbands table, to my fathers war chest. I thought
love, like a lad who slays giants, would be enough to bolt
me to history, link man to man.
And the thing pleased
him. Whose father says that? Mine constructs a name, a price; stages
a boy executing dowry. Children give up the fruit of palmed fate
for platinum laurel crowns, for my marriage: dreams of becoming
son-in-law to a king. David grows into his name, costumes himself
a garden, clambers out windows as I twist satin, shape a man of pillows
to save him from soldiers in the foyer. Absolve me. I am Sauls daughter.
You said I could not keep the attention of my husband who dances
on cobble and cogs, scaling ladders for golden calves. This is how to break
ground, to carry on, to reinstitute vainglory: incant news stories
to tin men. He, who I is my title, aches over his praise: bent
like apology, comes to the slate doorstep papered in pixels with leaves
in his hair, a womans ribboned tambourine. He talks at me, says he has scanned
roof tops, the great arc tattooed on the sky-- etching the day
where bathers originate. Never trust anything born in blood,
not writing. Rings note cavities as hollow as my belly. He says
he can not stand, the sight of me: desperate, windswept;
a snare
to him in the one of the twain. New songs soak my skin, the mattress
humiliates and happiest person I know is a train's conductor.
I like this from the start the strange, anachronistic use of the trains, which returns, mysteriously, at the end. I can't say I follow the poem entirely (a mix of unfamiliarity with the story's details and the writer's clever use of the address the character is speaking to God not us, and so we are eavesdropping). The language, strung over long lines, is what I would called 'cadenced verse' which has its beginnings in the King James bible itself, and was employed by poets such as Whitman and Eliot. This was simply the strongest, most accomplished poem in the selection. Its writer has much talent.
*
salshep Arachne Confesses
Arachne Confesses
Cross-cut from the passage of thread, stained
brown with a mingle of royal dyes, my fingers
passed across her tapestry. I dared not touch,
but thought I felt Europa's corn-silk hair,
a fresh-plucked pomegranate's dew. And the figures -
it was no silk-shimmer or trick of light, they moved
as though she'd coloured
them with life. The thought
unstitched me,
throat to belly.
Spindle-legged envy skulked from the hole, wove
such nets of spite, illumined with Tyrenian silver
and gold, that all the world chirruped acclaim
for the glory of my creations; exquisite - and dead
as the grass mat under my feet. I unravelled
its rope, knotted my grief to a Cyprus bough,
and secured my place among the lesser creatures.
Bold, confident, flowing this piece impressed me. I'm not that familiar with this myth, so the poem had to work for me without that knowledge, and it did. The length felt right for the richness of the poem. Strong images, and the poem is driven by unusual verbs which give the piece pace and punch.
~
JesterSeven - Taliesin's Lament
Taliesin's Lament
No sweeter sound then any lover's tongue
Did bid the howling winds against the walls;
Notes, no more divine then songbirds' calls
Released from he, the shackles where they hung.
And yet, while lords and ladies stand, enthralled,
Hear I, only radiant music sung.
Perhaps, like the venomous snake, immune
To the sting of its fangs and toxic fire,
The poet's heart, not moved by his own lyre,
But by theirs, indulged in rapturous tune.
Gifted by chance; birthed again by ire,
Am I yet deaf to my harmonious boon?
Through seer's eyes I speak a lyric spring,
Alas! No richer wisdom do I drink.
This sonnet sailed close to the two flaws I mentioned above, but I felt the form was well handled and only a few of the locutions struck me as needlessly fussy ( 'Hear I, only radiant music sung.' ). Using inversions in modern poetry, a friend once commented, is like wearing a monocle everyone will notice and stare, whereas in the past, it would have been commonplace. Of course, the poet here is opting for a mythic tone, and mostly, they do that with aplomb.
*
oedipa - Persephone, to her Husband
Persephone, to her Husband
The rivers all run stagnant here
and cold and dark and deep.
No merry little tinkling streams
to sing me off to sleep.
The fields all lie asleep in here,
where many tears are shed.
Even the grass lies bent in grief
and reverence for the dead.
The shades live on, live on down here
in glory or in shame;
with no one but their fellow dead
with whom to share their fame.
But for all the silent shadows
and all the lifeless air,
I will always cross those rivers
and learn to call them fair.
To your kingdom I bring starlight
in the glowing of my eyes,
and you will always welcome me
as your glory, not your prize.
The metrical form used here (and technically well done) is simple and affecting, though I wasn't convinced this particular form was right for the subject this form (four stress / three stress lines alternately) can be a little cloying and old-fashioned. I liked 'I will always cross those rivers / and learn to call them fair.' though I wasn't sure exactly what that meant exactly. A little too driven by the rhymes (not always a bad thing) and saved by a strong last line.
*
jack-cade - Sixty Second Interview: Sisyphus
Sixty Second Interview: Sisyphus
How's life? Don't ask! An uphill struggle,
as ever. I swear, this bugger I lug'll
bust my back, but you can't make an omelette
etc. Ah, yes. About that. Why do you
keep at it? Heck knows, that's some nasty juju.
No kidding! I'm riding it out. It's a rum bit
of luck, but I'm getting the hang of it now.
This time I'm nailing the summit. Then - pow!
Sis the Sly'll be back with a bang.
Look out Puck, Loki, Sun Wukong,
Bugs, Gambit, Banksy and Beck -
the prince of all tricksters wants his crown.
They can't keep a no-good cheat like me down.
So you think you can beat back this - Wait a sec.
I've got a promise to make - hey, Zeus!
Zeusy-boy! Listen up. Once I vamoose
from this shit-tip 'death', better keep the purse-strings
loose. I know you've been up to worse things
since I squealed on your little liaison.
What's it worth? No need for a shower
of gold - a cheque'll do just fine, squire,
or the world'll find out the robe never stays on!
Olympus'll reel. Your call, King Leer.
You know we can't print this. Oh, go to here.
I liked the way this one had fun with language flagged up by the outrageous rhyme in the first two lines (I thought my use, some years ago, of Dracula and vernacular took the biscuit!). Varying the rhymes so not everything is in couplets is an impressive choice. And the colloquial language and anachronistic namedropping really enliven it. Tight rhythm too.
The Winners
1 ~
panika - Michal speaks to God for the first time
2 *
salshep Arachne Confesses
3 *
RedDragonfly Ferryman
Commended:
*
oedipa - Persephone, to her Husband
*
jack-cade - Sixty Second Interview: Sisyphus
~
JesterSeven - Taliesin's Lament
Devious Comments
--
~litNEWS, help us keep you informed.
may Beelzebub's scrotum rest firmly on your chin
--
< GunShyMartyr > PinkyMcCoversong: o hi asl plz
< PinkyMcCoversong > GunShyMartyr: ask again in a cockney accent
< GunShyMartyr > ELLO daaaahling, what's yah name then. giveus a kiss would ya love? yer eighteen roite?
--
Tots and Teens: The Children's Literature Contest --Amazing literature and amazing prizes!!
this is a great set of poems.
--
Things need not have happened to be true. Tales and dreams are the shadow-truths that will endure when mere facts are dust and ashes, and forgot.
--
Critiquing someone's prose or poetry is an awesome thing to do.
--
Everything is ruined forever.
--
To be or not to be?
meh, lets just eat some pancakes and call it a day.
Clubs: *RawEm0tion ~PoeticPeace ~PoeticPath ~da-library ~Writers-Guild-DA *degrees-of-love *WordCount *LiteraryUnderground
Previous Page123 Next Page