COMPETITION

The cult of the Celt

Jaspistos

IN COMPETITION NO. 2034 you were asked to imagine that an independent Scotland and Wales had set up Statues of Liberty on their borders, and invited to provide verses for the plinth of one.

Give me your tired, your pc:16r,

Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free, The wretched refuse of your teeming shore. .. .

We all know these lines from the sonnet entitled 'The New Colossus' inscribed on the Statue of Liberty in 1883 (one of you amusingly wrote a la Spooner of 'muddled asses'), but few of us could name the author. She was Emma Lazarus, a transla- tor of Heine and a poet whose best-known volume was called Songs of a Semite.

I invited you either to enthuse or amuse. Among the best of the enthusiasts (no prizes for guessing which nation) was T. Griffiths, and among the amusers Basil Ransome-Davies and Bill Greenwell stood out, and R.J. Pickles with his neat last verse: `So all give thanks and rightful praise/That we have realised our fate,/While James Kelman has pointed out/How late it was, how late.' The prizewinners, printed below, get £30 each, and the bottle of The Macallan The Malt Scotch whisky goes, fit- tingly, to an enthusiast, Frank McDonald.

Behold, proud stranger to this land, A nation risen from her knees, Regard her wounds and understand That in the surging of her seas, On every crag, in every glen, Within the bleakness of her moors The spirits breathe of ancient men Who fought for freedom that is ours.

Dear passer-by, if you would seek The purpose of this simple stone, Allow our battlefields to speak Where liberty was overthrown; Read here engraved each gory name Where Scotsmen strove for nationhood, And contemplate how Scotland came To win her her liberty, for good. (Frank McDonald) The words so deeply chiselled on this beautiful stone Speak a splendid welcome from the heart of Scotland's own.

This proud nation of Jimmies, Jocks and Macs Is a fine hilly country that no beauty lacks. Come into our wondrous land of burns and glens, Of craggy peaks and mountains quite often named after Bens.

We are a kind people and wish to entertain you well, So slip inside and be overcome with our ancient Gaelic spell. Drive on past city, town and lowly croft Where humble folk can be snapped with their Tam o'Shanters doffed.

See our ancient lairds in glengarry and famous tartan - A fine woollen cloth invented in days much more spartan. Scotland bids you welcome to the land of the free Where visitors are charged ten pounds, which is quite a reasonable fee. (Sid Field) Oh, it's out with trampled miners and the rubbish bin consigners And the hollow calls of 'something must be done', And it's in with Merc and Honda through the Ystwyth and the Rhondda, As we rise to claim our corner in the sun.

And it's out with news reporters from across the Severn waters Who mangle `Dafydd, `Alun' and the rest, And it's in with special classes when we give the buggers passes, Till they say their Llanfairfechan with the best.

Yes, it's out with iffy Brummies with their lager- swollen tummies

Rolling in to buy a jolly summer pad,

And it's in with legislation to re-Cambrify the nation, And a home for every Taffy lass and lad.

From Beaumaris to the Gower we're the ones who hold the power, For we've forced the English conqueror to bow. And if such bold assertion seems a scandalous inversion - There's Llareggub can turn the clock back now.

(Chris Tingley) Mark you well and consider: this fine prospect tower Celebrates Cader Idris and Owen Glendower, Eisteddfodau, laverbread, sweet Border Ales The cuisine and culture of wonderful Wales. In verse which defies every metrical pattern We eulogise Pembroke, Presteigne and Prestatyn, The hills of Snowdonia, the Beacons of Brecon, Porthmadog, Porthcawl, Bala Lake, Llanfairfechan, Builth Wells, Pontardawe, Llandaff, Aberystwyth; The boyos that dear Dylan Thomas got pissed with.

We're famed for our friendliness, harmony, hwyl, For mountainous views, Milford Haven, and oil, So, travellers, warm to our welcome herewith: Croeso i Cymru a Cyrnru am Bythi (Mike Morrison)