ISLE OF 1 ISLE OF

COMPETITION

51..61111+1LT SCOTCH M,HISO

ISI,Glf U41.15COTCH WHIM

URA

Mood indigo

Jaspistos

IN COMPETITION NO. 1975 you were invited to write a poem about one kind of blues.

Ireland boasts of its 'forty shades of green', but the blues country is even more various. I expected to meet — and did — such predictable numbers as Election blues and Menopause blues, but I was pleasantly surprised at being introduced to such nov- elties as Cow biues, Denim blues, Fishcake blues, Paradise Syndrome blues and, deep- est indigo of all, Toe-jam blues. Only Basil Ransome-Davies (whom I once mistakenly pictured in green corduroy trousers but can by now more accurately finger as an Auden nut) echoed the Master's metre in that haunting 'Song' growled by the legionary with Roman Wall blues: 'Over the heather the wet wind blows,/I've lice in my tunic and a cold in my nose.' He and the other prizewinners, printed below, get £25 each, and the bottle of Isle of Jura Single Malt Scotch whisky goes to Nick Syrett.

Bench-press Blues There's a slab-chested champion in the corner of the gym Lifting ninety kilograms — why can't I be like him?

I've got the body-building belt, the shades, the training shoes, But I haven't got the muscle, just the bench- press blues.

See the definition as he does his stomach crunch, My spirit's good and willing but the flesh is out to lunch.

Powdered egg and carrot juice? Cut down on the booze?

Mine's a pint of bitter and the bench-press blues.

In any scrap or bar fight he's the type that I'd depend on, A symphony of pectoral and ligament and tendon, While I'm underscored, blown out and prone to bruise, Ain't got any rhythm, just the bench-press blues. (Nick Syrett) Blues for the Builders I'll miss the builders when they go, after they have succeeded in finishing the job, when no more building work is needed.

I'll miss them when the roof is done, when the hardest hat I'll see will be a much much softer one (at least too soft for me).

I'll comb the carpet to retrieve handfuls of builders' dust. I'll miss the builders when they leave, and leave one day they must.

Delay those builders! Keep them slow!

Let progress be impeded, and if they try to leave, shout 'No!

More building work is needed!'

(Sophie Hannah)

Smiling Blues

When your chin is down but your mouth keeps curving up, And the face you make is not the one you'd choose; When you're out first round and they think you've won the cup, Then what you've got is the keep-on-smiling blues.

If your top lip's fixed in a rigor mortis joint, And the rictus of your grin feels like a bruise; If the show goes on though you can't quite see the point, Then you're really stuck with the good old smiling throughs.

When you keep your groans to the dark and secret night, And you never reveal the things remembrance rues; When the sun comes up and finds you shining bright, Then we're looking at a case of the spray-on blue sky blues.

If you keep your feelings bottled in a jar, And your cool is all you'd really hate to lose, If you'd never air your sorrows in a bar, Then your true complaint is the unsung smiling blues. (W.J. Webster)

Post-modern Blues

I woke up this morning feeling unreal, Like the virtual remains of a virtual meal. I went to the mirror to have a good look. I was just a quotation from somebody's book. My wife didn't know me, but what is a wife? What is a marriage? What is a life?

The paper reported the Spice Girls were cool. The Spice Girls? Who they? I felt such a fool. My neighbours all talk about surfing the Net, But how do you surf without getting wet? I follow the game shows, especially Blind Date. I'd love to be on it. I know I'm too late. No more grandes histoires, the pundits all say: They all fell to pieces and drifted away. I'd like to play God, but I'm sure I would lose. There's nothing so sad as the post-modern blues.

(Basil Ransome-Davies)

Clone Blues

I'm beside myself with misery, I've got a double dose of despair, I can't even look in the mirror 'cos there's another me lurkin' there. When I try to call my woman, it's my voice that answers the phone — I've got the blues, my girl has left me for my clone.

So I go to work in the mornin', keepin' the blues from off my face

'Til [find my double-cross double's car

occupyin' my parkin' space.

And he's in the boss man's office spoutin' ideas I thought were mine—

My clone is one step ahead of me every time.

Even Momma prefers him, says she thinks he's the best thing on earth, A lovin' son fresh from a test tube is so much cleaner than natural birth.

She says I must make this old self scarce and quit the family home — It's true what they say, you're never alone with a clone. (Adrian Fry)