The English department was amazed by the wonderful entries to the villanelle competition, announced on Twitter just before the Easter holiday. Reading so many beautiful poems was remarkably soothing, proving how comforting poetry can be in times of difficulty (and the calming effect of the repetitions of a villanelle).
With so many brilliant interpretations of the form, it was difficult to choose just one winner! Huge thanks and high praise go to all who entered – we hope you enjoyed the process. All students who entered a poem will receive a commendation.
An enormous thank you also goes to the Emanuel parent who suggested the competition and contributed the prize. We in the English department feel very fortunate to be part of such a supportive and creative community.
Without further ado, the prize of a Fortnum and Mason basket goes to the Alexander family, for this beautiful piece simply titled ‘Villanelle’. It perfectly captures the frustration and then acceptance of the bizarre situation we are all in. One of the English department remarked, “It sounds like James Fenton”. Well done indeed!
Miss Routledge (Head of English)
‘Villanelle’ (The Alexander family)
Being at home, by rights, should be such fun,
With all that time and nothing much to do,
We ought to do the things we’ve left undone,
And so I thought an idea I could run
Was write a villanelle like this to you:
“Being at home, by rights, should be such fun”.
I felt it was erratic, and too long,
So tried instead to D.I.Y. I knew
We ought to do the things we’d left undone.
That was unsatisfying once begun
But, though I left that work chaotic too,
Being at home, by rights, should be such fun.
Next morning, sitting glumly in the sun
I wondered if it ever could be true
We ought to do the things we’ve left undone.
It dawned on me that happiness could come
Accepting that being’s more than just “to do”
Being at home, by rights, can be such fun
We never do the things we’ve left undone.
See below for a selection of the many remarkable entries – poems encapsulating the beauty, boredom and banality of life under lockdown!
Siddiq Islam (Upper Sixth)
I long to lead a life once more within the real world soon,
And if the blessing of release in May is something I can’t get,
I suppose I’ll have to settle for the compliment of June.
I watch walk by my window mouths in masks all afternoon,
And though they see it clear enough (they don no safety goggles yet!),
Their throats behind those stiches itch to breathe the real world soon.
Then, in July, my pane would only half transmit the moon
(But O to fully see it soon!) and half reflect my face, tear-wet
For losing such a prospect as the compliment of June.
My earphones spew flat frequencies that mock the Earth’s old tune:
Bombayan bustle, rusty Roman rustle, teapots of Tibet.
It’s real enough, but O to listen to the real world soon!
I do respect the regulations to which I have hewn,
But August spent indoors to me is wholly an unwelcome threat.
I’m growing ever hungry for the compliment of June.
So grateful would I be I’d slurp up Summer with a spoon,
And bask my skin in sweet sunsets, but were I even let
The sentiment of September to join the real world then so soon,
I’ll forget they ever offered me the compliment of June.
The Howells family
Time to learn the poem’s flow
Time to put away the stress
And time to watch the flowers grow
Time to read books as I go
Lost in words, pure happiness
It’s time to learn the poem’s flow
Time to stretch and touch my toe
Yoga practice, more is less
In the garden, as I watch the flowers grow
Time to see dough rise so slow
Make some bread, sure to impress
While waiting, read the poem’s flow
Is it time for tell and show?
Look at how I made this dress
As I watched the flowers grow
Time to weed and time to sow
Time to breathe in ‘Oh so slow’
There’s time to learn the poem’s flow
And time to watch the flowers grow
Freya Mills (Year 11)
Same old, same old, every day
Often boring, but at least we’re all safe
Inside, how long do we have to stay?
Over phone or facetime, I don’t know what to say
The feeling of loneliness begins to chafe
Same old, same old, every day
No chance of any abroad summer holiday
I miss meeting my friends at the park or cafe
Inside, how long do we have to stay?
From revision or work, I still can’t stray
Exams still loom in any case
Same old, same old, every day
With sister or dog, in the garden, we play
Bright sunlight outside keeps us from losing faith
Inside, how long do we have to stay
Being at home isn’t all bad, I’d have to say
But learning a new skill won’t chase the bored look from my face
Same old, same old, every day
Inside, how long do we have to stay?
The Barclay family
Being at home is going to make me spherical
If I don’t refrain from eating cake
Passing a mirror will make me hysterical.
Summer’s coming, with blue skies mesmerical
But one swallow can me glummer make
Being at home is going to make me spherical.
Thoughts of slenderness prove so chimerical
Though I try, I cannot slimness fake –
Passing a mirror will make me hysterical.
Exercise? I’m reasonably dexterical
For it to work, though, wine I must forsake:
Being at home is going to make me spherical.
Certain diets can be so esoterical
If I get them wrong I start to quake
Passing a mirror will make me hysterical.
From this complex I hereby awake:
Mirth’s the best response, for my own sake.
Being at home is going to make me spherical;
Passing a mirror will make me hysterical!
Herbert Sloan (Year 8)
I’m stuck here in this room,
It’s become a familiar sight
But at least spring is in bloom.
School is about to resume,
So I’ll stop playing Fortnite,
I’m stuck here in this room.
Will this be my doom?
My family is starting to fight,
But at least spring is in bloom.
I’m getting used to Zoom.
Mum’s worried her hair is a fright,
I’m stuck here in this room.
I’m dreaming of Dishoom,
And eating curry all night,
But at least spring is in bloom.
I’m starting to overcome gloom,
As the birds sing and take flight.
I’m stuck here in this room,
But at least spring is in bloom.
Being (Stuck) At Home – Bea Jones (Year 10)
Time moves in a strange way
The hour passes quicker than the last
Again I’ve slept in late today
Never anything new to say
The clock ticks, the tap drips, the hand reaches half past
Time moves in a strange way
I rinse away the yesterday
Each week has lost its contrast and
Again I’ve slept in late today
Shut in my bedroom, castaway
My window displays the overcast
Time moves in a strange way
Lethargic, my work effort whittles away
Overdue deadlines repeat and surpass
But again I’ve slept in late today
Same story, different day
The weather’s grey, and the same news broadcasts
Time moves in a strange way
Once again, I’ve slept in late today