Friday, April 27, 2007

Bring out your prose! [cough cough...]


EDITOR:
Bring out your prose!
[clang]
Bring out your prose!
[cough cough...]
[clang]
[...cough cough]
Bring out your prose!
[clang]
AUTHOR:
Here's one.
PROSE PIECE:
I'm not prose!
EDITOR:
'Ere. He says he's not prose!
AUTHOR:
Yes, he is.
PROSE PIECE:
I'm not!
EDITOR:
He isn't?
AUTHOR:
Well, he will be soon. He's very unpoetic.
PROSE PIECE:
I'm getting metrical!
AUTHOR:
No, you're not. You'll be stone-cold prose in a moment.
EDITOR:
Oh, I can't take him like that. It's against regulations.
PROSE PIECE:
I don't want to go in the Shit Creek Review!
AUTHOR:
Oh, don't be such a baby.
EDITOR:
I can't take him.
PROSE PIECE:
I feel fine!
AUTHOR:
Well, do us a favour.
EDITOR:
I can't.
AUTHOR:
Well, can you hang around a couple of minutes? He won't be long.
EDITOR:
No, I've got to go to Norman Ball's. He's written nine essays today.
AUTHOR:
Well, when's your next round?
EDITOR:
Thursday.
PROSE PIECE:
I think I'll go for a walk.
AUTHOR:
You're not fooling anyone, you know. Look. Isn't there something you can do?
PROSE PIECE: [singing]
I feel poetic. I feel poetic.
[EDITOR whacks PROSE PIECE on head!]
AUTHOR:
Ah, thanks very much.
EDITOR:
Not at all. See you on Thursday.
AUTHOR:
Right. All right.
[howl]
[clop clop clop]
AUTHOR:
Who's that, then?
EDITOR:
I dunno. Must be a king.
AUTHOR:
Why?
EDITOR:
He hasn't got shit all over him.


Interpretation: This enigmatic passage seems to be a cryptic call from the editors of SCR+II for prose submissions.

We are after well-written prose essays, surveys, memoirs, close reads, rants, hot gossip - what you will, as long as it relates to our core focus of Poetry.

We are particularly interested in the sorts of prose mentioned above that relate to the topic of 'Lives' - our theme for the July edition of our subzine II.

This could include profiles with a biographic bent of particular poets or poetic couples (think Ted Hughes and Sylvia Plath*). Poets who tend to write about characters, such as Robert Browning, would be a suitable subject. Poems about a life or lives could be given a close analysis. Look, I can't do all your thinking for you. Get out there and have a bit of a ponder of your own, then write up a storm on some aspect of poetry as relates to 'Lives', or some aspect of 'Lives' as relates to poetry. The possiblities are endless. Type away like fury, bung it in an email and whizz it off to shitcreekreview@yahoo.com before 21st May, 2007 - extension to 21st July 2007! It may be a couple of paragraphs or a major essay, depending on your powers of endurance.

Can you do it? Are you writer enough? Or are you going to wooss out again?

Real poets write prose as well!

----

Footnote

* No, no, no! Don't think Sylvia and Ted! Check the comments section! Think G. Valerius Catullus and Lesbia, John Keats and Fanny Brawne, John Skelton and Mistress Margaret Hussey, Ezra Pound and T.S. Eliot, Arthur Rimbaud and Paul Verlaine, Petrarch and Beatrice, Simon and Garfunkel, Tin Tin and Snowy...

3 Comments:

Blogger RHE said...

I hope you get reams of well-written, interesting, illuminating prose, but I have to tell you: I don't want to think about Sylvia and Ted. I'm sick of thinking about Sylvia and Ted. I'm sick of hearing about Sylvia and Ted, who should be allowed to fade back into the non-ideological, non-polemic background where they belong. How about some new couples, just for a change? Byron and Caroline Lamb? Rosetti and Elizabeth Siddons? Queequeg and Ishamel? Arthur Clenham and Little Dorrit? Sam the Sham and the Pharaohs?

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9:34 pm  
Blogger Caratacus said...

Richard, you're right. Stuff Saliva and Turd. What I really meant was Robert Graves and Laura Riding, Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Browning, Percy Shelley and Mary Shelley, Dante and Laura, George IV and Mrs Fitzherbert, William Shakespeare and the Dark Lady, and John Donne and the Apparition. I don't know why on earth I didn't just come out and say that in the first place.

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3:22 am  
Blogger NJH said...

"Gas! Gas! An ecstasy of fumbling"

Taken from 'Silvia: The Oven Years.'

An essay on dangerous kitchen applliances and poetry, by AS Phyxiate.

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8:12 am  

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