The latest challenge was a shameless rip-off of the annual Bulwer-Lytton fiction contest which asks for ‘the opening sentence to the worst of all novels’ (Edward Bulwer-Lytton is often described as ‘the worst writer in history’). What a joy it was to wade through the morass of florid, convoluted prose, over-elaborate metaphors and inconsequential tangents.
In Competition No. 2908 you were invited to submit a comically appalling opening to an imaginary novel. Thanks are due to the inventor of the annual Bulwer-Lytton fiction contest from whom I have pinched the idea for this challenge (Edward Bulwer–Lytton is often described as ‘the worst writer in history’). It was a pleasure to
Transport for London’s efforts to use verse to encourage Tube users to mind their manners produced poems whose rhyme and scansion would have made William McGonagall blush. So it was over to the experts: competitors were invited to imagine that poets, living or dead, had been recruited to improve on the unlovely likes of: ‘We
In Competition No. 2907 you were invited to imagine that poets, living or dead, had been recruited to compose verse discouraging antisocial behaviour on the underground. This challenge was prompted by the results of Transport for London’s real-life efforts to use poetry to prompt Tube users to mind their manners: the poems in question feature
Given the kerfuffle caused by the recent publication of Craig Raine’s ‘Gatwick’ in the London Review of Books, I thought it might be interesting to invite competitors to compose their own poem about an encounter in an airport. Raine’s poem brought the Twitter bullies out in force to broadcast their disgust at an elderly poet
In Competition No. 2906 you were invited to write a poem about an encounter in an airport. Craig Raine’s poem ‘Gatwick’ caused a right old kerfuffle when it was published recently in the London Review of Books. The Twitter bullies came out in force to broadcast their disgust at an elderly poet sharing his lustful
In Competition No. 2905 you were invited to write a sonnet whose lines begin with the letters R,O,Y,G,B,I,V,V,I,B,G,Y,O,R, in that order. Thanks to Frank McDonald for suggesting this gem of a competition. I ummed and ahed over what was a vast and accomplished entry trying to whittle it down to a winning seven. It wasn’t
To mark the beginning of Wimbledon, competitors were invited to take as their first line ‘There’s a breathless hush on the centre court’ and continue for up to 15 lines in the style of Sir Henry Newbolt’s 1897 poem ‘Vitaï Lampada’. Newbolt’s poem (which he came to resent, describing it as a ‘Frankenstein’s monster) draws
In Competition No. 2904 you were invited to take as your first line ‘There’s a breathless hush on the centre court’ and continue for up to 15 lines in the style of Sir Henry Newbolt’s poem ‘Vitaï Lampada’. There is just space to congratulate the winners and to commiserate with unlucky losers John Whitworth, who
A spoof Farrow & Ball paint-colour chart doing the rounds on social media was the inspiration for the latest challenge. Competitors were invited to see if they could outdo the rather unappealing likes of ‘economy mince’, ‘provoked wasp’, ‘magnum of Tizer’ and ‘day at Thorpe Park’ by submitting an article from an interiors magazine featuring
In Competition No. 2903 you were invited to provide an extract from an article in an interiors magazine featuring some paint-colour names of your own invention that rival the ludicrousness of the real-life likes of ‘potentially purple’, ‘salty tear’ and ‘likeable sand’. High points in a patchy entry were Adrian Fry’s ‘Dresden licht’, John O’Byrne’s
In Competition No. 2903 you were invited to supply a poem incorporating a dozen cricketing terms. English poets love cricket: Housman, Betjeman, Chesterton and Sassoon all wrote about the game. And then, of course, there is Harold Pinter, who encapsulated it so beautifully in two lines: I saw Len Hutton in his prime, Another time,
In Competition No. 2903 you were invited to supply a poem incorporating a dozen cricketing terms. English poets love cricket: Housman, Betjeman, Chesterton and Sassoon all wrote about the game. And then, of course, there is Harold Pinter, who encapsulated it so beautifully in two lines: I saw Len Hutton in his prime, Another time,
The latest comp was inspired by Stephen Spender’s notorious poem ‘The Pylons’, which he likens to ‘nude giant girls that have no secret’. Spender wasn’t praising pylons on aesthetic grounds in his notorious poem, but celebrating the progress that these non-human structures embody: ‘There runs the quick perspective of the future’. The spirit of the
In Competition No. 2901 you were invited to write a poem in praise of a modern-day blot on the landscape. Stephen Spender wasn’t praising pylons on aesthetic grounds in his notorious poem but celebrating the progress that these non-human structures embody: ‘There runs the quick/perspective of the future’. The spirit of the 1930s poets —
The American writer Richard Brautigan fulfilled his ambition to end a short story with the word ‘mayonnaise’ in his 1967 novel Trout Fishing in America. Actually, strictly speaking, he didn’t. As an eagle-eyed friend pointed out to me, the word appears, in most editions at least, as ‘mayonaise’, a deliberate misspelling on Brautigan’s part. But
In Competition No. 2900 you were invited to write a short story that ends on a condiment of your choice. The germ of this comp was the writer Richard Brautigan’s wish to end a short story with the word ‘mayonnaise’, an ambition he fulfilled in his 1967 novel Trout Fishing in America. Actually, strictly speaking,
The poet laureate Carol Ann Duffy’s failure to pen a poem commemorating the birth of Princess Charlotte of Cambridge prompted us to invite you to do it instead. You stepped into the breach with gusto: sonnets, odes and haikus poured in. The entry was diverse, full of charm and a pleasure to judge. I was
In Competition No. 2899 you were invited to write a poem commemorating the birth of Princess Charlotte of Cambridge. The impetus for this comp was Carol Ann Duffy’s failure to deliver the goods. This made some people very cross, but as the official website of the British Monarchy makes clear, modern laureates are under no
The call for an update on one of the children in Cautionary Tales who lived to tell the tale attracted a large and excellent entry. Belloc’s gallery of kiddie delinquents suffered particularly unpleasant comeuppances — being eaten, feet upwards, by a lion, and so on. Of those who did escape with their lives, weepy Lord
