Anonymous, Still Life with Lobster, ca. 1890.
A poem by Elizabeth Handel from our Fall 1976 issue. Handel went on to become a doctor; Google suggests that the composer Thomas Janson adapted this poem for choral performance sometime in the eighties, but no recordings have turned up.
Clarence was not known for speech or grace;His looks were those of ordinary men;In Roman times he might have washed the grapes for others’ orgies,For his were lowly tasks of preparationBehind the diamond window of a swinging door.Clarence was a chosen person that they got somewhereTo be lower than a cook, but higher than a dishboy.He placed lobster claws, two by two,Beside their preboiled fuselages, busted up for fancy salads,Antennae waving carefree from the luncheon platter;So he could count, make no mistake.The hostess banned him from the dining room(He had no “class”) but she couldn’t stop his fingerprints,Which entered by the hundreds on the backs of shellfish—And this is what he loved: to watch his works in grand procession,Held high above all men on sacred trays.
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