Some 'Literary' Limericks

For Fun

Bill Faulkner one fine day was flying

To get rid of hiccups, or trying.

Wiley Post from The Town

Flew so fast upside down

That Bill thought of As I lay Dying.

___________________________

A lovely young woman, a Reiver

Prefers Bill Faulkner to Cheever

If she says his surging

prose gives her an urging

To go down Moses, believe her.

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1.

Said the late Monsieur Paul de Man

Of Herr Hitler I was a fan

But that all of course is

just blind social forces

A kind of catch as catch can.

2.

My past is the reason I twisted

Criticism and roundly insisted

That “the author” was just

Some absurd social dust—

And no academic resisted.

______________________

To think of great art as a tomb

Is frankly too much to assume.

Says more of yourself

Than the books on your shelf

And for discourse leaves little room.

But many believe it’s what’s there

In the near past or present to share—

They’re doomed to repeat

Some old magic feat,

reinventing the wheel, with fanfare.

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The one thing we see in the sheer

Weight of H. Bloom’s critical sphere

Is there’s no rust at all

In the storm and the squall

In the works of Mister Shakespeare.

...

Bloom claims Bill’s the canon, you see

And for that, he’s all right with me,

Blooming canon or no,

Rusty gates or Day-Glo,

I’d bet that at heart you’d agree.

_____________________

Said a bearded old guy named Cervantes

‘I wish I could wear women’s panties,

I’d soak them in gas

And pretend that my ass

Is is inflammable like my friend Dante’s’

____________________________________

There was a great woman, quite gabby,

Who told lots of stories, not shabby.

She was never in Boston

But her name is Jane Austen

And I think she wrote Northanger Abbey.

_____________________________

1.

You’ve heard of Fitzgerald, F. Scott

He and Zelda, his wife, drank a lot

But then came the crash

& they lost all their cash

And sadly their lives went to pot.

2.

But Fitz in his prime had no peer,

His prose brought the angels quite near

It sang and it soared

& it struck every chord

Like wine beside Hemingway’s beer.

____________________

1.

There once was a writer named Poe

Whose life filled up with deep woe

& there wasn’t a doubt

When his dope all ran out

He had quite a tough row to hoe.

2.

But his lines form a musical score,

They shimmer, they shine and they roar—

Their music’s a haven

For any stray Raven,

Who might quoth to us, ‘Nevermore.’

_________________________

1.

There once was a man tagged as ‘Papa’

Who wrote a good book called Fiesta

At least by the Frenchmen

The Brits & their henchmen,

Who hadn’t waked up from Siesta

2.

But we’ve got ‘The Sun Also Rises’

As title of what we surmise is

The actual name,

Of the book in its fame,

And worthy of all the great prizes.

3.

A beautiful woman with charms

And a penchant for psychic alarms

Caused great consternation

In carnal relations

While reading A Farewell to Arms.