"My opponent left a glass of whisky 'en prise' and I took it 'en passant". - Henry Blackburne | SINCE 2007

Friday, March 13, 2009

The Return Of Edwin Korir

Through thick and thin, through marauding militias and blood thirsty janja weed, from desert storms to to desert ovens from Kenya to Sudan and everything in between. Hello Kenya for the past few months I have not posted a blog entry but for very good reasons. I was in the Sudan on a peace keeping mission. Now in a place called Rumbek where electricity has never been discovered the internet is as alien as planet mongo. Chess news was had to come by and so I hear Anand is world champion! What about the local scene, well it seems from what I can gather from the Kenya chess forum that the same old ‘beef’ is going on.

But I played chess in the Sudan with a couple of patzers I was with and a UN worker from Lithuania who was extremely good. But the biggest part was trying to buffer Dafur from attacks by the Janja weed militia a modern day reincarnation of the 1800’s Madhi. It seems I have been in a time warp although I have gone through quite a number of my favorite websites to get updated e.g. chessbase, chessninja, chesscafe, London chess club, chesszone and thechessdrum.

Finally I saw a posting from mehul claiming that he won MIg in Chess worst chess poem of all time. Well I cannot dispute with that except for a small fact the the winner of the completion was called John Chernoff and mehul normally posts simply as well mehul well here is the poem.

Leko! Leko! Spurning fight
On the chessboard, as black (or white)
What immortal hand or eye
Could break thy fearful symmetry?

In what distant depth of plies
Blots the fire of thine eyes?
For what Queen dare he aspire?
What paroxysm doth seize his Sire?

And who bolder, & what art,
Could stir the Magyar in thy heart?
And when thine horse deigns retreat,
What Caro-Kann? & what dead scoresheet?

What Schlechter? What pawn chain?
To what purpose works thy brain?
What new angle? what dread trap
Dares your ready terror grasp?

When Kasparov lays down his spear,
And patzers spy the draw that’s near,
Did he smile his work to see?
Did he who made the Lamb make thee?

Leko! Leko! Taking flight
In the dullest fit of fright
What Oll or Tal in the sky
Could break thy fearful symmetry?

1 comment:

John said...

Hi, I'm the author of that poem.

It may be of some small consolation to you that it didn't win anything except a rather meaningless honorable mention. Or not. :)

Btw, it makes little sense without knowing the William Blake Poem "The Tyger".


- John