Erasure 2012 image (all erasers no text)
This contest is now closed.
What it is:
Erasure poetry begins with an existing piece of text. Letters, words and punctuation are removed—or erased. What is left behind is a new stand-alone poem, one that both complements and gives new meaning to the Erasure Text.
The Erasure Text for the 2019 Geist Erasure Poetry Contest is an excerpt from A Strange Manuscript Found in a Copper Cylinder by James De Mille, published by Harper & Brothers in 1888.
How it works:
1. Copy the passage from A Strange Manuscript Found in a Copper Cylinder, posted below, into your word processor. This is your Erasure Text.
2. Erase! The leftover words and letters will form your poem. Do this in any way you like and be creative. The remaining words should take on new shapes and meanings.
3. The ONLY RULE is do not change the order of words or letters. You can combine leftover words and letters however you see fit, just as long as they appear in the same order as in the original text.
4. Shape the text however you like. Or, leave it as is. Add punctuation and capitalization if the spirit moves you.
5. Add a title: it does not have to be from the Erasure Text.
6. Print your entry and send it to us. There is no word limit.
For a great example of an erasure poem, see "Readme Doc" by Gregory Betts, published in Geist 77.
And for more inspiration, read the First Prize winner of the 3rd Annual Erasure Poetry Contest, "Do You Recognize Me Without My Tomahawk?" by Karen Kachra. Visit our Erasure Poetry Contest tag for other past contest winners and great examples of erasure poetry. Questions? Check out the Erasure Poetry Contest FAQ.
PRIZES:
First Prize: $500
Second Prize: $250
Third Prize: $150
All winning entries will be published in Geist and on geist.com. More than one prize per category may be awarded.
DEADLINE: September 30, 2019
Entry Fee: $20
Includes a one-year subscription to Geist, Canada's favourite literary magazine. International entrants will receive a digital subscription.
All additional entries are $5.
How to enter:
Submissions can be entered online.
Or, send your poem, with a cover letter (including name, mailing address, phone number, email, title of entry and how you learned about the contest) and the $20 entry fee to:
Geist Erasure Poetry Contest Suite 210, 111 West Hastings Street Vancouver, BC V6B 1H4
Entries received without the appropriate information and cover letter will not be accepted. Judging is blind—do not include your name on your entry.
Be sure to sign up for the Geist Newsletter to receive important updates and announcements regarding this and other contests.
Questions? Check out the Erasure Poetry Contest FAQ.
Good luck and happy erasing!
The Erasure Text: Excerpt from A Strange Manuscript Found in a Copper Cylinder, by James De Mille, published by Harper & Brothers in 1888.
[START]
Horror is a feeling that cannot last long; human nature is incapable of supporting it. Sadness, whether from bereavement, or disappointment, or misfortune of any kind, may linger on through life. In my case, however, the milder and more enduring feeling of sadness had no sufficient cause for existence. The sights which I had seen inspired horror, and horror only. But when the first rush of this feeling had passed there came a reaction. Calmness followed, and then all the circumstances of my life here conspired to perpetuate that calm. For here all on the surface was pleasant and beautiful; all the people were amiable and courteous and most generous. I had light and luxury and amusements. Around me there were thousands of faces, all greeting me with cordial affection, and thousands of hands all ready to perform my slightest wish. Above all, there was Almah. Everything combined to make her most dear to me. My life had been such that I never before had seen anyone whom I loved; and here Almah was the one congenial associate in a whole world of aliens: she was beautiful and gentle and sympathetic, and I loved her dearly, even before I understood what my feelings were. One day I learned all, and found that she was more precious to me than all the world.
It was one jom when she did not make her appearance as usual. On asking after her I learned that she was ill. At this intelligence there came over me a feeling of sickening anxiety and fear. Almah ill! What if it should prove serious? Could I endure life here without her sweet companionship? Of what value was life without her? And as I asked myself these questions I learned that Almah had become dearer to me than life itself, and that in her was all the sunshine of my existence. While she was absent, life was nothing; all its value, all its light, its flavor, its beauty, were gone. I felt utterly crushed. I forgot all else save her illness, and all that I had endured seemed as nothing when compared with this.
In the midst of my own anxiety I was surprised to find that the whole community was most profoundly agitated. Among all classes there seemed to be but one thought—her illness. I could overhear them talking I could see them wait outside to hear about her. It seemed to be the one subject of interest, beside which all others were forgotten. The Kohen was absorbed in her case; all the physicians of the city were more or less engaged in her behalf; and there came forward as volunteers every woman in the place who had any knowledge of sick-duties. I was somewhat perplexed, however, at their manner. They were certainly agitated and intensely interested, yet not exactly sad. Indeed, from what I heard it seemed as though this strange people regarded sickness as rather a blessing than otherwise. This, however, did not interfere in the slightest degree with the most intense interest in her, and the most assiduous attention. The Kohen in particular was devoted to her. He was absent-minded, silent, and full of care. On the whole, I felt more than ever puzzled, and less able than ever to understand these people. I loved them, yet loathed them; for the Kohen I had at once affection and horror. He looked like an anxious father, full of tenderest love for a sick child—full also of delicate sympathy with me; and yet I knew all the time that he was quite capable of plunging the sacrificial knife in Almah's heart and of eating her afterward.
But my own thoughts were all of Almah. I learned how dear she was. With her the brightness of life had passed; without her existence would be intolerable. Her sweet voice, her tender and gracious manner, her soft touch, her tender, affectionate smile, her mournful yet trustful look—oh, heavens! would all these be mine no more? I could not endure the thought. At first I wandered about, seeking rest and finding none; and at length I sat in my own room, and passed the time in listening, in questioning the attendants, in wondering what I should do if she should be taken from me.
At length on one blessed jom, the Kohen came to me with a bright smile.
"Our darling Almah is better," said he. "Eat, I beseech you. She is very dear to all of us, and we have all felt for her and for you. But now all danger is past. The physicians say that she will soon be well." There were tears in his eyes as he spoke. It may have been caused by the bright light, but I attributed this to his loving heart, and I forgot that he was a cannibal. I took his hands in mine and pressed them in deep emotion. He looked at me with a sweet and gentle smile.
"I see it all," said he, in a low voice—"you love her, Atam-or."
I pressed his hands harder, but said nothing. Indeed, I could not trust myself to speak.
"I knew it," said he; "it is but natural. You are both of a different race from us; you are both much alike, and in full sympathy with one another. This draws you together. When I first saw you I thought that you would be a fit companion for her here—that you would lessen her gloom, and that she would be pleasant to you. I found out soon that I was right, and I felt glad, for you at once showed the fullest sympathy with one another. Never till you came was Almah happy with us; but since you have come she has been a different being, and there has been a joyousness in her manner that I never saw before. You have made her forget how to weep; and as for yourself, I hope she has made your life in this strange land seem less painful, Atam-or."
At all this I was so full of amazement that I could not say one word.
"Pardon me," continued he, "if I have said anything that may seem like an intrusion upon your secret and most sacred feelings. I could not have said it had it not been for the deep affection I feel for Almah and for you, and for the reason that I am just now more moved than usual, and have less control over my feelings."
Saying this, he pressed my hand and left me. It was not the custom here to shake hands, but with his usual amiability he had adopted my custom, and used it as naturally as though he had been to the manner born.
[STOP]
Full text: http://www.gutenberg.org/files/6709/6709-h/6709-h.htm