The Rhymers’ Club
Monday, January 3, 2022
I’m a member of the Rhymers’ Club, a bunch of us poets who get together to read, write and recite poetry to each other. It’s a private group, and we often meet in complete secrecy. We have made a journal from time to time, but the printing is only enough for membership and no one else. So, in other words, we produce literature for only ourselves and no one else. Everyone in the group is obsessed with keeping the poetry as pure as possible. To be honest, I’m even forbidden to discuss or write about this group, even in this journal. Nevertheless, I feel compelled to expose myself because when you come upon such perfect moments, I tend to want to share them with someone.
The Rhymers’ Club started in London about 125 years ago, where meetings took place in various private homes and pubs. Since then, there has been a secret signal between members where they shake hands, but one member scratches the palm of the other’s hand by their middle finger. Sometimes identities are covered up either by fake names or, in some cases, by wearing a disguise. I remember in our last meeting, one of us was even dressed up as a woman, not in a sexual sense, but to throw off anyone trying to find out the identity of the figure. It has been rumored and almost common knowledge among its members that the Irish poet W. B. Yeats was an early member of this group. He may have organized the first meetings and invented the secret handshake among its members. Oscar Wilde was rumored to be a part of the group, but there is no solid proof of that.
To this very day, the meetings are arranged by the throw of the dice. If absolute numbers come up, that is the date for the get-together. An ad is placed in a publication announcing the meeting's date, time, and location. Of course, all of this information in the announcement is under a secret code that its members can only read. Usually by a rhyme of some sort. Last night I went to a meeting at the 321 Lounge at Taix, where we have a table reserved for the group under the name “Basil Rathbone.” Once there, I approached all the members with the secret handshake, and then we got down to business to discuss the poet Fernando Pessoa. We agree to discuss a specific poet in each meeting and debate their work. Afterward, we share our poetry, and each member can read up to five poems to the group. We discuss the work and eventually make plans to make a journal, which, again, we only print up enough copies for the group and no one else. The journal is called “The Rhymers’ Club, ” We also encourage its members to either save each issue or destroy it to ensure it doesn’t leave the group.
Every so often, there are poets in the group that are pretty famous, but not for writing poetry. The comic actor Paul Lynde was a member of the group right up to his death, and he was once on a TV program called “Hollywood Squares,” where he often gave messages on the show for the members. Of course, it was coded, and anyone listening in would think they were listening to a joke, but that was not the case whatsoever. The group has stated that Lindsay Anderson’s film “O Lucky Man” is a coded version of The Rhymers’ Club” and that the film’s star Malcolm McDowell who wrote the story, may have been a member. More likely, his father, who owned the pub, where some of the secret meetings took place, either was a member himself or at least knew about the group.
An ongoing rule for the group is that only males can belong to The Rhymers’ Club. Occasionally we allow only one woman in our meetings, and this only started when legendary photographer Jacques Henri Lartigue was part of the group. It was almost a fetish for him to bring an attractive woman to the meetings. Ever since, for tradition's sake, we permit one member of the group to bring a woman of his choice into a meeting. But she is not allowed to participate in the discussion or the poetry readings. Also, her identity is not exposed to the members, and she is often just called “The Muse” among our members.
We have a membership card, but it has no name or wording. It is an image of King Ludwig looking over Richard Wagner as he plays the piano. For whatever reason, we don’t know why this image was chosen. It has been rumored that Yeats himself chose this image as a membership card to announce oneself to another member. Secrets are the foundation of our culture. We must keep them. After reading this, please destroy it.