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COMPETITION

Cautionary tale

Jaspistos

IN COMPETITION NO. 1904 you were invited to submit, in prose or poetry, a story ending with the words, 'Never choose a genius for a friend'.

Sometimes the word genius begged for quotation marks, as in the case of Andrew Pantcheffs Marco CI finally caught up with him at one of his post-night-class haunts where he inhabited an interstice between anthropology and not so fine wines' and never paid his share), and sometimes it was genuine, as in 0. Smith's cautionary verse about the Person from Porlock's visit to his friend to the detriment of English poetry. Frank Upton was good and so was Tim Hopkins, but the latter failed to provide a story-line. The last time I offered you a choice between poetry and prose, the bot- tle of Isle of Jura Single Malt Scotch whisky went to a poet. This time it goes to the lone proseman among the winners, K. Roken. He and the other prizewinners, printed below, get the customary £20 apiece.

There was the half-thumb lost to his patent oyster-knife; the permanent scar inflicted by his nostril-hair remover; varicose veins, those throb- bing souvenirs of self-adjusting suspenders that

failed; the bald patch that repelled women, etched by a power surge in the electric hair- brush. Friendship with Kevin had its price and these scars were mine. But it was in St Sebastian's hospital, recovering painfully from the enthusiasm of Kevin's pedal-driven acupunc- ture applicator, when he suggested using solar power to regulate my drip-fed morphia, that I saw the light. Kevin, skin infant-smooth, with a complete set of fingers and thumbs, pleaded with me: unscarred, he claimed that this would be his breakthrough. True, it was only a proto- type, but ....His eyes begged, and I almost suc- cumbed. Only a sudden stab of pain brought Mother's last words agonisingly to mind: Never

choose a genius for a friend. (K. Roken) I slipped and fell to earth the other day: Some snow had crystallised the local park. I heard a vicious crack, and there I lay In pain, spreadeagled. It was after dark.

Habitually, I've cursed my mobile phone, But now it had a chance to earn its keep.

I called a genius up, a man I'd known Since childhood. He was brilliantly asleep.

The reputation of his lightning brain Is well-deserved. He hurried to his study

To plan contraptions which would ease my pain, Devised a brand-new bandage (I was bloody).

Incredible what filled his ample head!

By dawn he'd drawn contraptions that would send Inventors into fits. But I was dead.

So, never choose a genius for a friend.

(Bill Greenwell) He had a wondrous gift with words: I was the pattern of the Spring, And in the music of my chords Love's self was wont to sing.

All very fine, until one day

He swore I had a serpent's tooth.

Said I'd he better put away -

A nunnery, forsooth!

He called me she-wolf, marble-heart, And quite forgot his winning ways ...

Why can't he offer me a part In more romantic plays?

All's well that ends well — I refuse To contemplate a tragic end, But let me warn you: never choose A genius for a friend. (Mary Holtby) For thirty years, while Philip was in Hull And I was stuck in somewhere just as dull, We exchanged long, chatty letters Where we criticised our betters, Waxed humorous and philosophical.

You know the sort of thing, of course you do.

At times a trifle OTT, it's true; And, all right, we cracked some jokes (Well, we do, you know, us blokes), And maybe one or two of them were blue.

Who would have thought they'd publish in the end?

Or that I'd have, at seventy, to defend Both poor old Larkin's views and mine (`Filthy, right-wing, racist swine ... ')? Never choose a genius for a friend! (J.A. Pirt) My affair with Madame Curie Was replete with sound and fury, Though signifying nothing in the end. My liaison with Picasso?

An emotional Sargasso: It takes time for a broken heart to mend. Now my motto — bitten once — is 'Seek the company of dunces, And never choose a genius for a friend.'

When you socialise and party With the great illuminati, The egomania drives you round the bend: Such a pack of prima donnas Fed on fame and wealth and honours - Infallible (or so you must pretend). But the feel-good factor trick is To associate with thickies.

Ah, never choose a genius for a friend.

(Basil Ransome-Davies)

No. 1907: Buddhist blurb

At the recent Frankfurt Book Fair a pub- lisher was touting a title, Combining Buddhism with Work Performance in Switz- erland. You are invited to supply a jacket `blurb' for this title (maximum 150 words), substituting, if you like, some other country for Switzerland. Entries to 'Competition No. 1907' by 9 November.