SPECTATOR COMPETITION No. i 16

Report by R. J. P. Hewison A prize of was offered for a poem in rime riche on a subject suitable to the month of May.

Rime riche, in French a sought-after beauty, is considered a fault in English. This competition showed that, for a few lines, it need not be so. Were it permitted by the canon, what a help it would be to those endeavouring to versify in a language as rich in homophones as it is deficient in rhymes ! • What a boon, in particular, to trans- lators of Italian libretti ! Most entrants caught the idea very well, and their large number was one more proof that literary competitors enjoy dancing in chains, especially when these are daisy-chains. Several, however, had to be disqualified for cockney rhymes of the father-farther type ; and white-wight would have grated on Scottish ears.

A composite of the poems submitted would certainly have con- tained the rhymes time-thyme, fate fete, rain-reign and—appropriately enough—rime-rhyme, but the variety of subject and treatment was very great. Satire, politics, sport, gardening were some of the topics chosen, and the poems ranged in form from the monosyllabic to the full-blown sonnet. On the whole, simplicity came off best, and the first prize of £3 goes to Nan Wishart for an easy and graceful little verse with a touch of Herrick. A second prize of Ll 5s. to R. Ken- nard Davis for a nioe piece of echo-work ; and a third prize of 15s. to W. M. L. Escombe for an accomplished entry which was, how- ever, perhaps a little too ingenious.

Commendations to Oswald Clark, the promise of whose first eight lines was not quite fulfilled by the remainder ; to Iris Capell for a first stanza reminiscent of George Herbert ; and to P. M. who combined simplicity with asperity. Honourable mentions to Pauline Willis for ingenuity (which line five carried too far) • to Captain W. R. S. Roberton for output and feeling for natural beauty ; to Major Laurence Fowler for religious simplicity ; and to the Rev. C. E. G. Spencer for humour.

PRIZE-WINNERS

(NAN WISHART)

Pretty miss, When it's May Do not miss (As you may) Golden hours Unaware ; Love is ours, Yet beware— Youth, my lass, Passes by ; Then alas, Love, goodbye !

(R. KENNARD DAVIS) 'Tis May ; now soon by the stream the may-fly

may fir.

The swarming gnats bid the swooping swallow

swallow.

The drowsy pigeons answer the cuckoo "-coo-coo."

And nesting boys from across the hollow holloa.

Now treacherous clouds in the heaven are reigning, raining !

The flooded brook from its bed of rushes rushes To swamp my garden—and I cannot dam it.

damn it (W. M. L. EsconisE)

Sup with me aQd I'll show you if I may How I salute the merry month of May.

For me the first of May the day of days is.

It signifies the end of winter's rheums.

I decorate my porch with chains of daisies And mass gay-coloured tulips in my rooms.

How eagerly I look about and seize on Some bright idea by no one else attempted.

A dish—a drink, appropriate to the season With which my friends may be amused and tempted.

This year I've got a simply priceless cook whose Chef-d'oeuvre is a fricassee of cuckoos.

HIGHLY COMMENDED

(OSWALD CLARK)

How can I sit by azure seas With my permitted currencies, And count the cost of every teeny Aperitif and dry Martini ? How can I wet the other eye of Gallic friendship ? How can I Offer some sweet Provencal jade A glass, my dear, of orangeade ?

(IRIS CAPELL)

The sun arose And in his bright ascent Awoke a rose, Called forth so sweet a scent The vernal air Was filled with fragrance new.

(P. M.) Too much is made Of Lady May, She's growing vain. • The foolish maid, Though smile she may, Is not in vein. She should by rights Have golden hours, Serene and still.

—Well, hers the rites, The wrongs are ours She's April still.