A clever poem about the Bloomsbury group; kind of makes Virginia & Leonard Woolf, John Maynard Keynes, and rest sound like the cast of a sitcom.
By Connie Bensley
Virginia’s writing her diary,
Vanessa is shelling the peas,
And Carrington’s there, hiding under her hair,
And squinting, and painting the trees.
Well Maynard is smiling at Duncan,
A little to Lytton’s distress,
But Ralph’s lying down with a terrible frown
For he’d rather be back in the mess.
There’s Ottoline, planning a party–
But Leonard’s impassive as stone:
He knows that they’ll all sit around in deck chairs,
Discussing their own and each others’ affaires,
And forming, perhaps, into new sets of pairs:
And oh, how the bookshelves will groan!
St. Mary’s English Prof. Robin Bates has a key if your Bloomsbury dramatis personæ is, like mine, rusty.