Richard Grantham

Anagrammy Awards > Literary Archives > Richard Grantham

Original text in yellow, anagram in pink.

A poem by Sylvia Plath.

STILLBORN

These poems do not live: it's a sad diagnosis.
They grew their toes and fingers well enough,
Their little foreheads bulged with concentration.
If they missed out on walking about like people
It wasn't for any lack of mother-love.

O I cannot explain what happened to them!
They are proper in shape and number and every part.
They sit so nicely in the pickling fluid!
They smile and smile and smile at me.
And still the lungs won't fill and the heart won't start.

They are not pigs, they are not even fish,
Though they have a piggy and a fishy air -
It would be better if they were alive, and that's what they were.
But they are dead, and their mother near dead with distraction,
And they stupidly stare and do not speak of her.

MISCARRIAGE

My opuses have perished: it's an ominous truth.
Though their limbs were already in place and intact,
And their tiny brains developing properly.
If they failed to stand on their own two feet,
Then that wasn't due to any parental neglect.

Oh, I will never know how it finished thus!
For they are tidy and whole and complete,
Yet now float neatly in the formaldehyde.
Their radiant visages might gawp and gawp non-stop,
But they lack the vital breath and soft beat.

They are not hogs, and nor are they trout,
Despite the inhuman hoglike or troutlike feel -
Once they lived, and it was sweeter like that.
But tonight they died, and their old father is beside himself,
As they mindlessly gape, expressionless and pale.

Return to Richard Grantham Index

A simultaneous anagram and approximate translation of a poem by Rainer Maria Rilke.

ABEND

Der Abend wechselt langsam die Gewänder,
die ihm ein Rand von alten Bäumen hält;
du schaust: und von dir scheiden sich die Länder,
ein himmelfahrendes und eins, das fällt;

und lassen dich, zu keinem ganz gehörend,
nicht ganz so dunkel wie das Haus, das schweigt,
nicht ganz so sicher Ewiges beschwörend
wie das, was Stern wird jede Nacht und steigt;

und lassen dich (unsäglich zu entwirrn)
dein Leben, bang und riesenhaft und reifend,
so dass es, bald begrenzt und bald begreifend,
abwechselnd Stein in dir wird und Gestirn.

DUSK SCENE

Sunset crawled in and changed his usual dress
bunched inside huddled dendroid zigzags;
we gazed: while dual lands abandon'd us,
climb'd zenith-ward and descended;

we finished firm denizens in neither,
ended less dark than hushed, barren buildings,
ended less sure in conjuring the unending
than this which became stars each night;

we were left (indescribable in entanglement)
lives, fearful and saddened, massive, maturing, which
began, now restrained, now cognizant,
changing in us between boulders and stars.

Return to Richard Grantham Index

The song used in the film Watership Down.

BRIGHT EYES

Is it a kind of dream,
Floating out on the tide,
Following the river of death downstream?
O, is it a dream?

There's a fog along the horizon,
A strange glow in the sky.
And nobody seems to know where you go.
And what does it mean?
O, is it a dream?

Bright eyes,
Burning like fire.
Bright eyes,
How can you close and fail?
How can the light that burned so brightly
Suddenly burn so pale?
Bright eyes.

Is it a kind of shadow,
Reaching into the night,
Wandering over the hills unseen?
Or is it a dream?

There's a high wind in the trees,
A cold sound in the air.
And nobody ever knows when you go.
And where do you start,
O, into the dark?

Bright eyes,
Burning like fire.
Bright eyes,
How can you close and fail?
How can the light that burned so brightly
Suddenly burn so pale?
Bright eyes.

Bright eyes,
Burning like fire.
Bright eyes,
How can you close and fail?
How can the light that burned so brightly
Suddenly burn so pale?
Bright eyes.

RABBIT PIE
This dish needs:

One dewy-eyed wiggly-eared bunny (how adorable)
One huge onion
One sizeable celery stalk
Salt
Biscuits

First catch your rabbit. Horribly slaughter the tiny bastard with a great big huge hammer, skin and wash her gory dead body. Soak the bunny (without her head) under brine in the fridge all night. Dry, stew with highly diced celery/onion (a good two or three hours), before hewing the soggy meat from her smashed bones and laying it on your thirty-centimetre dish, while lightly salting. Add gravy*, top with the bikkies then bake (I suggest three hundred and fifty degrees Fahrenheit, one whole hour in duration).

*GRAVY needs:
Stock
Hen bouillon and seasoning
One (not-so-big) onion
Flour
Salt
Sage
Boil stock, bouillon, onion. Strain. Thicken with flour and water, season.

Yield: eight good helpings.

 

Afterwards, why not try a good haunch of venison?
First we slaughter Bambi, then...

Return to Richard Grantham Index

A 1944 poem by e.e.cummings, imitating a New Yorker at a bar explaining why WWII is being fought.

ygUDuh

      ydoan
      yunnuhstan

      ydoan o
      yunnuhstan dem
      yguduh ged

             yunnuhstan dem doidee
      yguduh ged riduh
      ydoan o nudn

LISN bud LISN

            dem
            gud
            am

            lidl yelluh bas
            tuds weer goin

duhSIVILEYEzum

you, hiding

you, huddled down under the house

you, dazed by the guns' inhuman dins
shuddering guns
thudding guns
unusually damn deadly guns

but even you, my manly lad

 

did you die humanely?

Return to Richard Grantham Index

PREAMBLE TO THE UNITED STATES CONSTITUTION

We the People of the United States, in Order to form a more perfect Union, establish Justice, insure domestic Tranquility, provide for the common defence, promote the general Welfare, and secure the Blessings of Liberty to ourselves and our Posterity, do ordain and establish this Constitution for the United States of America.

ONLY IN THE U.S....

...do people shoot the butts off tons of the most sweet creatures to stuff, but feel that to require a permit is evil.
...could Walt Disney's utter anti-Semitic rot end in infinite refrigeration as a trite eternal icon.
...could pop-tarts be considered haute cuisine.
...do former presidents' children assume they deserve the top job too, on no more than name.

God bless America.

Return to Richard Grantham Index

Return to Poem Page


Updated: May 10, 2016


Home

 | The Anagrammy Awards | Enter the Forum | Facebook | The Team

Information

 | Awards Rules | Forum FAQ | Anagrams FAQ | History | Articles

Resources

 | Anagram Artist Software | Generators | On-line | Books | Websites

Archives

 | Winners | Nominations | Hall of Fame | Anagrammasia | Literary | Specials

Competition

 | Vote | Current Nominations | Leader Board | Latest Results | Old Results | Rankings

Miscellaneous

 | Tribute Page | Records | Sitemap | Search | Anagram Checker | Email Us | Donate

Anagrammy Awards

  © 1998-2024