COMPETITION

After Lovelace

Jaspistos

In Competition No. 1439, given a slightly changed version of the first line of Love- lace's famous lyric, you were asked to take it in a different, modern direction, using the same metre and rhyme-scheme.

Cavalier in the modern sense you cer- tainly were — there was scarcely a chival- rous note among the ninety entries. The least gallant opening quatrain was Berni Wellgell's:

Don't tell me, sweet, that I'm unkind For having you interned: It's no reflection on your mind - It's just that I'm concerned.

And here are two among the best clin- chers:

Although when you are far away I wish that you were here,

Still, I look forward to the day

You're nicer to be near. (John Hammond) Later, off-season, we shall clutch As tightly as before; I could not love the deer so much

Lived I not on a moor. (Peter Lyon) Jonathan Fernside, Caroline Bingham, Paul Edwards, Stephen Rowse, J. C. M. Hepple, M. R. Macintyre and Peter Had- ley are among the other names on the honour roll, and many more gave pleasure. Thank you. The prize-winners printed be- low pull in £8 each, and the bonus bottle of Pol Roger White Foil Champagne, pre- sented by Colin Dix, Wolseys Wine Bar, 52 Wells St, London Wl, is David Cram's.

Don't tell me, sweet, that I'm unkind For publishing that poem. No writer can afford to find Four-letter words below him.

Believe me, dear, it took some pluck To write the raunchy bits That made your father run amok And gave your mother fits.

To get things into print today There really isn't room For lovey-dovey stuff. OK, Next time a nom-de-plume. (David Cram) Don't tell me, sweet, that I'm unkind If all the flummery Of giggling bridesmaids trooped behind, And morning coat and tie, And you dolled up in silk and lace To show the contract's sealed, Is something that I cannot face.. .

Don't you recall the field Where, wriggling from my violent clutch, You thumped the grass and swore That marriage was a rabbit hutch And dressing-up a bore? (Mary Holtby) Don't tell me, sweet, that I'm unkind In asking for divorce, Since I no longer feel inclined To normal intercourse.

In carving out a grand career You did not pause to think Of damage to my ego, dear, Imprisoned at the sink.

I must ignore as meaningless Your poutings and your ploys, And unashamedly confess A preference for boys. (Mary Ann Moore) Don't tell me, sweet, that I'm unkind Each time I black your eye, Or raise a weal on your behind I'm just a loving guy.

I love it when you scratch and bite And leave me feeling bruised; Unless we fought throughout the night I wouldn't be amused.

We both despise the gentle touch, So cut out the pretence; You wouldn't like it half as much Without the violence. (Roy Dean) Don't tell me, sweet, that I'm unkind And think you cannot cook: I know you have no need to find Assistance in a book.

I simply love your marmalade, Youre pretty good with fish; That blanquette d'agneau you have made, Like you, is quite a dish.

Your soups I savour to the dregs, Your shortbread I adore, But, darling, when you boil my eggs, Give them a minute more. (Richard Spencer) Don't tell me, sweet, that I'm unkind When from your rodeo Of bucking bed and limbs entwined To place of work I go.

Sure, I've a girl at work. I tap A typist from the pool, Who's pleased enough to, for my lap, Exchange her office stool.

You should be glad. The heart is such, Just one I can't adore: I didn't love you half as much Till I loved Honor Moore.

(Michael Brereton) Don't tell me, sweet, that I'm unkind If I have tried to make You pure in body as in mind And stopped you eating cake.

I've fed you bran and checked your weight And rid your flaccid frame Of monosodium glutamate - As nasty as its name.

In sickness and in health, I swore, I'd love you long and true, But as in health I love you more