COMPETITION

Echo

Jaspistos

In Competition No. 1392 you were in- vited to write an 'Echo' poem in the form of question and answer, the answering echo being monosyllabic, disyllabic or even rrisyllabic.

This is an old poetic game, played neatly by George Herbert among others. I was disappointed by most of your efforts, but then I had a go myself and felt considerably less critical — except of those who made all their echoes ordinary rhymes, like 'cat' and `mat'. I had optimistically hoped for some trisyllabic tours de force. 0. Smith glittered for four lines with 'monument' and —on" You meant', and 'unruly gangs' and 'hooli- gans' but then weakened, as did D. E. Poole, who would have done better to submit only his best four lines:

What targets, then, sought Arafat's hardliners?

Liners. Which country now recalls the conflict bitterly?

Italy.

The winners printed below get £8 each, and the bonus bottle of Volnay Santenots- du-Milieu 1982 Comte Lafon (the gift of Morris & Verdin, Wine Merchants, 28 Churton St, London SW1) will be sent to Frank McDonald.

What should the unions do to please their Neil?

Kneel. Which word can best describe the artful Steel?

Eel.

Is there a partner whom he can't disown?

Owen.

Which power would Wedgie Benn like

overthrown? Throne. A theme, perhaps, that led to Powell's

disgrace? Race.

And the safe retreat from living at this pace?

Space.

(Frank McDonald) Which are you, sir, an aesthete or a hearty?

Arty.

What artist suffers least from repetition?

Titian.

Which makes the eager male alert and sweaty?

Etty.

Who carved delightful nymphs, and partly clad

'em? Adam. What artist's best commended to a cockney?

`Ockney. Can Irish painters rival Veronese?

Aisy!

(Mary Holtby) Who is to be the new adviser?

I sir, I sir,. I sir.

What do you hope from this great opportunity? Unity, unity, unity.

And what do you need for the new appointment? Ointment, ointment, ointment. You realise it's going to be dreadfully dicey? I see, I see, I see.

So when can you start in the hurly-burly?

Early, early, early.

But how will you feel if you lose the conflict?

Licked, licked, licked.

(Frances Rhodes) Who writes about ecstatic sex in torrents?

Lawrence.

Who writes about it like a drunken sailor?

Mailer.

Who treats it as a choking weed, like burdock?

Murdoch.

Who sees it leading men to death the lemming way? Hemingway.

Who banishes it from the novel's heartland?

Cartland.

And what makes sex so popular in fiction?

Addiction.

(Basil Ransome-Davies)

Say, Echo, does my Mistress love me still?

She will.

That's not the point; tell, does she love me now?

Enow.

Will she fill all my being with delight?

Might.

But has she done the same for other chaps?

Perhaps.

When will she say that she is mine for ever?

Never.

To whom, then, must I turn for joy, for life?

Wife.

(Gerard Benson) Echo, please tell me of Henri Matisse.

A tease.

Describe in a word, if you can, Francis Bacon?

A con.

Is modern art bad? Don't you like Stanley

Spencer? Pen 'Sir'.

Your pardon. Sir Stanley. How are these nobilities? Ill at ease.

That's true. When knighted, one's best work's

gone by. Ay.

Then I'm sticking to Raphael, Goya, El Greco.

Echo!

(Paul Griffin)