No. 1366: The winners

Jaspistos reports: Competitors were asked for a poem in praise of an ugly piece of modern machinery in the `Macspaunday' manner of the Thirties.

I suppose Spender's notorious poem about pylons wasn't, strictly speaking, in praise of them, but it did favour them as symbols of a hopeful, man-made future. The pylons he saw on that occasion, were, I am informed, wooden ones, but that doesn't mitigate the unhappiness of his simile — 'bar like nude giant girls that have no secret'. The machinery you chose for earnest celebration would have made a splendid exhibition of contemporary sculp- ture: a road-drill, a gas-poker, a parking barrier, a skip, a wrecked telephone box, an iron-framed mangle, a drain sucker- upper, a fruit machine, a cryogenic sperm tank • . . The Thirties poets are harder to parody than their predecessors. Some of you lapsed into Georgianism or drifted forwards into Fiftyish mannerisms. Some of you forgot that I had asked for a poem 'in praise of'. But it was a game entry in which A. J. Wyborn, Gerard Benson, George Moor and John Sweetman were excellent near-winners. A prize of £10 goes to each of the competitors printed below, and the bonus bottle of Vosne Romance Les Beauxmonts 1980, presented by the Chelsea Arts Club, is won by Basil Ransome-Davies for a good smack at Auden.

Sinclair CS The habits of the past decline: Kick-start and strong whine of clutch put away With the feeding-bottle and the diabolo, The body astride an angular sheath proclaiming New motions, the reckless invader, the pilot undaunted By the list of rules in the nursery, Whom the policeman's equipment cannot detain.

Urgent reports from arterial roads, Past the cemetery and the roundabout, Spreading like mumps through the awakening suburbs, Inform Today of what it must know: The release from the prison of petrol, The gaps in the market opening like wounds And the people gathered on slow, unusual machines.

Lovers, maniacs, flexible friends, All circle like doves till the battery stops.

(Basil Ransome-Davies) Sing we the petrol pumps of Devon where they wait in people's palaces along the public way, their great heads humming, quick to calculate litres to the last drop, pounds to the nearest p.

In scarlet cantilever-covered court or beneath plastic pink parabola they stand, grave intellectuals lost in serious thought, serving each waiting car with casual, sinuous gland.

True democratic servants asking no pourboire, With power for the people in their seed they give with equal grace 2-Star and 4-Star Petrol to each according to his need.

From Exmouth into Exeter I rejoice to meet them.

Scorning green nature in her summer state I speed past friends and neighbours just to greet them, the petrol pumps of Devon where they wait.

(Ralph Rochester)

Photocopier

How like some Zeus, Numinous in office, Lordly among the faithful files,

Imperiously issuing the word: Not hapax legomenon engraved on stone,

But hundredfold with unforgiving perfection, Mocking human error, Outstripping with cruel ease Monkish scribe and timid clerk, Withholding favour at a whim Until appeased by dark libations Or offerings of innocent pages; And the processions of youths and maidens Do homage at the shrine Of the omnipotent image-maker, l'olyphiloprogenitive. (Bridget Loney) It's no go the ballpoint pen, It's no go the pencil, All we want is a databased Computerised utensil, Whose every image is visionary And only a hum is heard, The letters tapped on the tireless key Spelling the processed word.

Letters for loving, Letters for hating, Letters from lawyers Who can't he kept waiting.

How beautiful they are, Those robots poets shun, Machines that don't argue When their job is done. (Roger Woddis)

Early Warning Station Yonder, where my hand is pointing, Three great orbs are shining clear: War-tents of the Lord's anointed. (Warn me early, mother dear.)

They can catch the least emission Far beyond the human car; Waste of time for us to listen. (Warn me early, mother dear.) Final symbols of creation Each a pure white, perfect sphere, Absolute in dedication.

(Warn me early, mother dear.) Thus the handiwork of Science Frees the human race from fear. Seamless city, bright as Zion's. (Warn me early, mother dear.) (Noel Petty)