DISCUSSION THREAD -- SEPTEMBER 2022 -- 75 Word Challenge

Congrats @Jo Zebedee on a well deserved victory; I'm from the wrong side of the pond and live under a rock so the importance of the names was lost on me on first reading, unfortunately.

For my own story, thanks for listings/mentions from @johnnyjet, @Bowler1, @Parson, @Starbeast, @StilLearning, and a vote from @therapist. I was glad to get that much of a response despite having two phrases in my story you might want to punch into Google translate. In hindsight, given the number of other stories about offing yourself, I may have gone in a different direction, but I had a reasonably well-formed idea pop into my head and wasn't patient enough to sit on it.
 
Congrats, Jo! Commiserations, CC!


Wednesday was a pig of a day, with everything going pear-shaped, and we were out in the evening so I only had time for a quick ninja vote rather than my usual long post of shortlistings and thanks. If I'd done a shortlist it would certainly have included the entries from CC, mosaix and Phyrebrat (didn't understand the latter when I read it, but it was so poetic...!) and I know there were a few others I'd mentally listed, but I can't now recall. Having read Elckerlyc's piece posted above, that would definitely have got into my shortlist if it had been entered.

I've now had time to read the posts here, and my thanks for the lovely mentions/shortlistings THX, Victoria, johnnyjet, sule, stable, Starbeast, CC, and Phyrebrat, and for the stupendous votes BTJ, Chris P and Hugh, and thanks also to stable, BTJ and Hugh for the wonderful comments.


For those who were undoubtedly confused by my piece, it was about the lying-in-state of Queen Elizabeth earlier in the month and the queue of people who walked past her coffin in Westminster Hall in order to pay their respects. At times the Queue (with a capital letter) was five miles long and the waiting time for the people well in excess of 15 hours** all for only minutes inside the Hall and literally only moments in front of the coffin itself, where people bowed heads, or curtsied, or prayed, and it was that contrast between their long, often motionless, wait, full of noise and bustle and talk, and then their utter silence inside the Hall save for their footsteps and those few short seconds of reverent stillness which I wanted to capture.

In one of the eulogies I read there was mention of Eizabeth being "the still point of a turning world" which is a quote from TS Eliot's The Four Quartets, which resonated with me and the images, so I pinched that, together with another line which I used as the title for the poem as it fitted perfectly. I wanted to have the two stanzas reflect each other, but the word limit was a real obstacle in making things clear, hence the rather tortuous "human rivers" to link up with "reverence" not to mention all the other clipped phrases -- as ever another 20 words would have been useful! (The image of the river of people wasn't new, of course, and interestingly enough I found it also in Kipling's In the Presence, a short story which deals in part with the lying-in-state of Edward VIII In the Presence.)

And if anyone wondered why I insisted on having the rather ugly "Zeal-seized" and "Zealously" in there, just check the initial letters of each line! (Copied shamelessly from the Poet Laureate's tribute.)


** The Queue -- nicknamed the Elizabeth Line after the tube/underground line -- was actually suspended at least twice, so people created a second queue (known as the QE2) to queue for the Queue, which was itself stopped and so (only in this country...) people created a third queue to queue for the second queue in order then to queue to join the Queue...


BTW for those confused by mine, I wonder if it is down to local practice; that is, the practice of stopping clocks when a family member dies, similar to covering mirrors. I figured the clock had decided to stop itself after watching over a family for so long, and thus honouring them.

I could clonk myself for missing that, as I had heard of this and the covering of mirrors. The song you've half-remembered is Victorian, My Grandfather's Clock. Somewhat more highbrow, there's also Auden's Stop All the Clocks.
 
Thank you, TJ! I hope the world has gone from pear-shaped to normal, and that everything is better today.

Re my Mullah Nasruddin story
Hugh, I meant to mention when you first posted this that I liked your story a lot. I thought the writing was quite nice, and was curious enough about the storyline (which I hadn't known) to go research it all at Wikipedia, during the listings/voting phase of the Challenge (where I first read your story). So well done.

And @Phyrebrat, I missed the meaning of your story, but the writing was irresistible, so it made my top 5. Had I understood things when voting, your entry would have really complicated things for me, CC
 
I usually sit on an entry till the end of the month and I didn’t this time because — like last time — I was worried I’d start fiddling. Maybe if I had, it’d have been a little less inscrutable.

I just had this vision of a long wooden hallway with an old clock in it. Smelling of beeswax and all that ancient estate stuff.
 
I just had this vision of a long wooden hallway with an old clock in it. Smelling of beeswax and all that ancient estate stuff.
A really nice idea.

I usually sit on an entry till the end of the month and I didn’t this time because — like last time — I was worried I’d start fiddling.

I post early in large part because I come up with ideas quickly, and write quickly. But I post early, too, because I just want to get rid of the things, and not think about them again. Writing is so consuming - I don't know how you folks who are working towards being published deal with it. But there are rewards, too, I know. But your story was terrific, CC
 
Then there’s a nursery rhyme/song about a clock stopping but all I can recall are the lines ‘ninety years without slumbering; tick-tock, tick-tock’ and ‘but the clock stopped, never to go again, when the ollllllld maaaan died’
I immediately recognised "My Grandfather's clock" as we hag a '78 disc of it in my youth so searched it:-
My Grandfather's Clock" is a song written in 1876 by Henry Clay Work, the author of "Marching Through Georgia".

My grandfather's clock was too large for the shelf,

So it stood ninety years on the floor;

It was taller by half than the old man himself,

Though it weighed not a pennyweight more.


It was bought on the morn of the day that he was born,

And was always his treasure and pride;

But it stopp'd short — never to go again —

When the old man died.

Ninety years without slumbering
(tick, tick, tick, tick),
His life seconds numbering,
(tick, tick, tick, tick),
It stopp'd short — never to go again —
When the old man died.

In watching its pendulum swing to and fro,

Many hours had he spent while a boy.

And in childhood and manhood the clock seemed to know

And to share both his grief and his joy.

For it struck twenty-four when he entered at the door,

With a blooming and beautiful bride;

But it stopp'd short — never to go again —

When the old man died.

Ninety years without slumbering
(tick, tick, tick, tick),
His life seconds numbering,
(tick, tick, tick, tick),
It stopp'd short — never to go again —
When the old man died.

My grandfather said that of those he could hire,

Not a servant so faithful he found;

For it wasted no time, and had but one desire —

At the close of each week to be wound.

And it kept in its place —
not a frown upon its face,

And its hands never hung by its side.

But it stopp'd short — never to go again —

When the old man died.

Ninety years without slumbering
(tick, tick, tick, tick),
His life seconds numbering,
(tick, tick, tick, tick),
It stopp'd short — never to go again —
When the old man died.

It rang an alarm in the dead of the night —

An alarm that for years had been dumb;

And we knew that his spirit was pluming for flight —

That his hour of departure had come.

Still the clock kept the time,
with a soft and muffled chime,

As we silently stood by his side; 

But it stopp'd short — never to go again —
When the old man died.

Ninety years without slumbering
(tick, tick, tick, tick),
His life seconds numbering,
(tick, tick, tick, tick),
It stopp'd short — never to go again —
When the old man died.

Which is one more verse than I remembered

Mind, I didn't enen know it was American - and drfinitely didn't know Johnny Cash had recorded a version.
 
I immediately recognised "My Grandfather's clock" as we hag a '78 disc of it in my youth so searched it:-
My Grandfather's Clock" is a song written in 1876 by Henry Clay Work, the author of "Marching Through Georgia".

My grandfather's clock was too large for the shelf,

So it stood ninety years on the floor;

It was taller by half than the old man himself,

Though it weighed not a pennyweight more.


It was bought on the morn of the day that he was born,

And was always his treasure and pride;

But it stopp'd short — never to go again —

When the old man died.

Ninety years without slumbering
(tick, tick, tick, tick),
His life seconds numbering,
(tick, tick, tick, tick),
It stopp'd short — never to go again —
When the old man died.

In watching its pendulum swing to and fro,

Many hours had he spent while a boy.

And in childhood and manhood the clock seemed to know

And to share both his grief and his joy.

For it struck twenty-four when he entered at the door,

With a blooming and beautiful bride;

But it stopp'd short — never to go again —

When the old man died.

Ninety years without slumbering
(tick, tick, tick, tick),
His life seconds numbering,
(tick, tick, tick, tick),
It stopp'd short — never to go again —
When the old man died.

My grandfather said that of those he could hire,

Not a servant so faithful he found;

For it wasted no time, and had but one desire —

At the close of each week to be wound.

And it kept in its place —
not a frown upon its face,

And its hands never hung by its side.

But it stopp'd short — never to go again —

When the old man died.

Ninety years without slumbering
(tick, tick, tick, tick),
His life seconds numbering,
(tick, tick, tick, tick),
It stopp'd short — never to go again —
When the old man died.

It rang an alarm in the dead of the night —

An alarm that for years had been dumb;

And we knew that his spirit was pluming for flight —

That his hour of departure had come.

Still the clock kept the time,
with a soft and muffled chime,

As we silently stood by his side; 

But it stopp'd short — never to go again —
When the old man died.

Ninety years without slumbering
(tick, tick, tick, tick),
His life seconds numbering,
(tick, tick, tick, tick),
It stopp'd short — never to go again —
When the old man died.

Which is one more verse than I remembered

Mind, I didn't enen know it was American - and drfinitely didn't know Johnny Cash had recorded a version.
I know parts of this song. We sang the first verse in elementary school circa 1957. I even thought of this when reading @Phyrebrat's story. But I just saw it as a kind of kid's song which could have no relevance to the beautiful lyrical story.
 
What just happened? I looked at the poll on 28th no votes and given there were nary a mention, I assumed I was heading for nul points
I've just looked again and I've been :ninja: voted by @The Judge - thank you

As for my entry, did anyone notice the brilliant play on words between the title and the punchline?

The Honourable Discharge of Brigadier...
...
I put the barrel of my service revolver into my mouth. Time to do the honourable thing.

Sometimes I wonder at my own genius ;)

PS
I know if you have to explain then it means it hasn't worked, and it's definitely not cool to tell everyone, and I don't want to insult anyone's intelligence, but just in case the subtlety was missed...
When a gun is fired, it is also known as having been discharged
 
What just happened? I looked at the poll on 28th no votes and given there were nary a mention, I assumed I was heading for nul points
I've just looked again and I've been :ninja: voted by @The Judge - thank you

As for my entry, did anyone notice the brilliant play on words between the title and the punchline?

The Honourable Discharge of Brigadier...
...
I put the barrel of my service revolver into my mouth. Time to do the honourable thing.

Sometimes I wonder at my own genius ;)
Yep, you were ninja'd!

And I did notice the pun, which added another reason to vote for your story!
 
And if anyone wondered why I insisted on having the rather ugly "Zeal-seized" and "Zealously" in there, just check the initial letters of each line!
Can't believe I missed that! Makes your poem even more impressive.
Congrats Jo on your great story
 
And if anyone wondered why I insisted on having the rather ugly "Zeal-seized" and "Zealously" in there, just check the initial letters of each line! (Copied shamelessly from the Poet Laureate's tribute.)
I can't believe I missed that! Extra props. QEII indeed.
 
Congrats, Jo! Commiserations, CC!


Wednesday was a pig of a day, with everything going pear-shaped, and we were out in the evening so I only had time for a quick ninja vote rather than my usual long post of shortlistings and thanks. If I'd done a shortlist it would certainly have included the entries from CC, mosaix and Phyrebrat (didn't understand the latter when I read it, but it was so poetic...!) and I know there were a few others I'd mentally listed, but I can't now recall. Having read Elckerlyc's piece posted above, that would definitely have got into my shortlist if it had been entered.

I've now had time to read the posts here, and my thanks for the lovely mentions/shortlistings THX, Victoria, johnnyjet, sule, stable, Starbeast, CC, and Phyrebrat, and for the stupendous votes BTJ, Chris P and Hugh, and thanks also to stable, BTJ and Hugh for the wonderful comments.


For those who were undoubtedly confused by my piece, it was about the lying-in-state of Queen Elizabeth earlier in the month and the queue of people who walked past her coffin in Westminster Hall in order to pay their respects. At times the Queue (with a capital letter) was five miles long and the waiting time for the people well in excess of 15 hours** all for only minutes inside the Hall and literally only moments in front of the coffin itself, where people bowed heads, or curtsied, or prayed, and it was that contrast between their long, often motionless, wait, full of noise and bustle and talk, and then their utter silence inside the Hall save for their footsteps and those few short seconds of reverent stillness which I wanted to capture.

In one of the eulogies I read there was mention of Eizabeth being "the still point of a turning world" which is a quote from TS Eliot's The Four Quartets, which resonated with me and the images, so I pinched that, together with another line which I used as the title for the poem as it fitted perfectly. I wanted to have the two stanzas reflect each other, but the word limit was a real obstacle in making things clear, hence the rather tortuous "human rivers" to link up with "reverence" not to mention all the other clipped phrases -- as ever another 20 words would have been useful! (The image of the river of people wasn't new, of course, and interestingly enough I found it also in Kipling's In the Presence, a short story which deals in part with the lying-in-state of Edward VIII In the Presence.)

And if anyone wondered why I insisted on having the rather ugly "Zeal-seized" and "Zealously" in there, just check the initial letters of each line! (Copied shamelessly from the Poet Laureate's tribute.)


** The Queue -- nicknamed the Elizabeth Line after the tube/underground line -- was actually suspended at least twice, so people created a second queue (known as the QE2) to queue for the Queue, which was itself stopped and so (only in this country...) people created a third queue to queue for the second queue in order then to queue to join the Queue...




I could clonk myself for missing that, as I had heard of this and the covering of mirrors. The song you've half-remembered is Victorian, My Grandfather's Clock. Somewhat more highbrow, there's also Auden's Stop All the Clocks.
Well done and hats off also.
 

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