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Local Poem Competition 2010 Winner

Judith Drazin


 

A romantic, nostalgic poem about a forest area which she used to visit with her late husband, has won a national poetry title for Judith Drazin of Bristol.

“This is a free-to-enter annual competition with a £1000 prize, to encourage people to get poetic about their home town or area,” said Peter Quinn, managing director of United Press, which runs the competition.

Judith’s poem, Nightingale Valley, was chosen as this year’s winner out of many thousands of entries from all over the UK for the annual Local Poem Competition.

The presentation of her £1000 cheque and framed certificate marking her success was made at her local library - Henleaze Library, where she is a member of the library committee.

“Nightingale Valley is a forest area near Bristol, where I used to walk with my late husband,” explained Judith. “It has lots of nostalgic and romantic associations for me and I let those feelings out in my poem.”

If you want to enter the current Local Poem Competition, send up to 3 poems of up to 20 lines and 160 words each to United Press, Admail 3735, London, EC1B 1JB by the closing date of 31st December 2010 or visit www.unitedpress.co.uk. It’s free to enter the competition again this year and as well as the £1000 and framed certificate, the winner gets a free copy of a book with their poem in it.

This is Judith’s first success as a poet, but she has had children’s books published in the past. Judith, who says she was an “escapist, dreamy person in my childhood,” later took up a career in teaching and taught at Bristol Children’s Hospital. “I’m really thrilled about winning the competition, I couldn’t believe it when I got the phone call to tell me that I’d been chosen,” added Judith.



   
   

 

NIGHTINGALE VALLEY

Nightingale Valley where we used to walk
Was silent but for the kiss of dry stalk
Against dry stalk of bleached river grasses
As we drank red wine in plastic glasses.

Will they return the nightingales?
Breaking the evening quiet with their song
Shaking the private dreams of every lover
Who whispers secrets by the river.

My love has left me, my dear companion
Slipping one night into a distant room
Slowly, slowly the time passes
For me the nightingales will never sing
For me the evening quiet and alone
And the dry kiss of dead grasses.


Judith Drazin, Bristol

         

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