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citIVAS REG:-,10 12 YEAR OLD --g/ SCOTCH WHISKY

The Gulf man

Jaspistos

12 YEAR OLD SCOTCH WHISKY In Competition No. 1652 you were asked for a sonnet addressed to Saddam Hussein in the style of a well-known English poet.

There was a hint of monotony this week, partly because you all, without exception, chose to address our man in terms of rebuke (why not a sonnet in the style of Roy Campbell praising him to the skies?), and partly because few of you risked being anything but Shakespearian, Miltonic or Wordsworthian, John E. Cunningham had a good stab at e e cummings, which might have scored if he'd only remembered that he was supposed to be addressing the dictator, not vice versa. Paul Griffin's voice of Elizabeth Barrett Browning ('How do we shove thee? Let me count the ways . . .') didn't quite come off, any more than did Alanna Blake's Miltonic address concluding, 'Oh, boil thyself in oil!' But she did well with Rupert Brooke and shares a place in the runners-up list with C. A. Hely-Hutchinson, Tim Raikes, Alyson Nikiteas and Robert Roberts. The prizewinners, printed below, get £13 each, and the bonus bottle of Chivas Regal 12-year-old de luxe blended whisky is the property of Peter Norman for a fine expostulation from Gerard Manley Hop- kins. I leave you to guess the other well-known poets.

Saddam, 0 sad madman of the Middle East, Why vainly vaunt, flaunt yourself as saviour Of what you rape, Kuwait? Hateful behaviour

Feeds on itself, yourself will suffer not least If wind-whipped sands of war perturb the peace, Despoil the oil-drenched sand-lands of Arabia. Saddam, bad or merely mad, fool or knave, Your Rock-bottom stock could so easily be increased: Only cease your heinous hostage-seizure now! Transcend your sin, and send your sinless guests Home to the dear and ah! so loving breasts Of fretful wives. Their sore=missed lives weigh

more (As God is merciful, all men of Islam know) Than all the rich hauls of souls reaped through war. (Peter Norman) Saddam Hussein! thy crimes are numberless. By plots and murders hast thou gained thy power.

Thy subjects are thy slaves, and daily cower, Awaiting the dread summons' suddenness That crushes without mercy to suppress One murmur of dissent. Thine evil dower Spreads poison, torture, rapine — till that hour When Justice shall at last these wrongs redress. Amongst thy victims, Truth is not the least, And, seeking History's cloak, thou has put on The guise of Guardian of the Holy East: Yet heed (if that false mantle thou dost don) The doom once written at Belshazzar's Feast That spelt a Despot's end in Babylon! (Geoffrey Riley) When I have fears that thou may'st cease to be, I do dismiss them; and not I alone: This universal world as lief would see Thy swift surcease. Think not it will condone Thy avaricious pride, thy hateful scorn, The anguish of Kuwaiti misery, Inhuman shields, unwilling guests held pawn, Egyptian brothers slain in infamy, Whose purple-stained blood upon thy hands Will taint thy soul until avenging Time Shall turn the glass, and unforgiving sands Obliterate thy melancholy crime.

The nightingale, Saddam, no longer sings: Can'st hear the fearful beating of his wings?

(David Heaton) O Sparrowhawk that in yon burning sky Hoverest at noon and all the land survey'st, Now with fresh fears our watchmen see thee haste With beak and talon ready to destroy Such helpless prey as know not where to fly To 'scape the monstrous trail of war and waste That follows thy descent. Oh, if the taste Of innocent blood content thee not, then try A fiercer foe; if the soft bird of peace Forgo her hopeless task to mourn apart, Think not affronted Nature's cries shall cease Nor vengeance fail, till to thy twisted heart Jove's eagle strike at last, and so release From terror's shadow those whose scourge thou art. (Mary Holtby) Let me not to the furth'rance of fair claims Admit impediments. Law is not law

Which hinders rightful rulers in their aims Or presses just invaders to withdraw.

Oh no: blind Justice on her balance lays Questions of conquest, weighs as grains of sand The hostage innocence, the fear-stained days, And metes out judgment with an even hand. But those, like you, who overstep the mark, Whose grasping greed and barbarous ways have shocked, Who falsely justify their murderous spark, Must face the forces of the world they've rocked.

As violent deeds o'crturn what history mends, All bloody means will come to bloody ends. (D. A. Prince) Dreaming, I found we'd bargained, face to face, And flung ourselves on parchment-coloured sands The which you tendered, for your nation's grace, As swiftly lifted shadows from your lands, Where once was turmoil. Yet, when we'd exchanged Pieties, held our cups of comfort high, A darkness dropped; our friendship was estranged; Dun were the colours of the storm-sick sky.

Now where the ancient Tigris, touched with khaki By history, lapped lightly at our ankles, I glimpsed what store of riches lay beneath: Naught of what Time bequeaths you, bold Iraqi, Should touch you where your hectic spirit rankles, Nor should these dunes, laid waste, be blasted heath.

' (Will Bellenger)