The Dead Poets Society Convention

It was the annual convention of the Dead Poets Society, and the guests were assembling in the dining hall of the Hotel Excelsior.

 

All poetic genres were represented by their major exponents. The nonsense poetry group consisted of  Edward Lear and Lewis Carroll, who had been joined by Ogden Nash and Spike Milligan, whose grave carried the epitaph “I told you I was ill”.

 

They exchanged jolly repartees, which were shunned by other assembled members who considered themselves to be of a more serious disposition and could not understand how such trivial poesy could be so popular.

 

But even those eminent academics had their Achilles' heel. They were not exempt from bitchiness.

 

In fact, some of them were currently engaged in gossip. Especially Cavalcanti, who was pontificating about Dante and stirring things up.

 

“Well, we all know his infatuation for young nubile girls, and I don't rate him as a good poet.”

 

This statement stirred Virgil into action in defense of his friend, who had been his companion through Purgatory and Hell in the Divine Comedy.

 

“Come, come, Guido. He met Beatrice when she was nine years old, and it was just puppy love. As for your opinion of his skill as a rhymester, he would be turning in his grave if he heard you.”

 

But the Florentine bard was not doing anything of the sort.  In fact, unnoticed by his colleagues, he had stood all along among the throng listening to what was being said.

 

He heard his critic and addressed him.

 

“Pray tell me, Guido", he asked icily, “what do you find unsatisfactory about my work?”

 

Taken by surprise, his red-faced antagonist realised his gaffe and tried to remedy the situation.

 

“Don't get me wrong, my dear fellow", he replied affably, “on the whole, there is little wrong with your body of work, but at times  your rhymes read like riddles.”

 

“For example", he continued, “in Canto VII of Inferno (in the Divine Comedy), to find a suitable rhyme for the line 'quel savio gentil, che tutto seppe', (that gentle wise one who knew everything), you use the obscure phrase 'Pape Satàn, pape Satàn aleppe' whose meaning no one knows.”

 

“Perhaps you ought to delve deeper into the Hebrew language to find the answer", Dante retorted with a glint in his eye.

 

This remark stirred the interest of every poet who started a debate with everyone offering their opinion on the matter in question.

 

The discussion could have gone on ad infinitum, but for the sound of a gong which announced that food was about to be served.