Ever since the influence of the famous Bloomsbury Set, the area of Bloomsbury has been associated with London’s most distinguished writers, artists and intellectuals. Today, Bloomsbury is still known as London’s literary heartland, a notion that The Bloomsbury holds in high regard.

From The Seamus Heaney Library to Dalloway Terrace named after Virginia Woolfe’s fictional character Mrs Dalloway, tributes to literary greats are laced throughout the hotel.

In keeping with the literary theme, The Bloomsbury has teamed up with Poet in the City to produce a special edition poetry book called Poetry Portraits. The concept of the Poetry book is to bring together a carefully curated collection of poetry about Bloomsbury and the hotel itself.

In a personal foreword from Marie Heaney, she speaks about her close connection to The Bloomsbury after years of staying there with her husband, Seamus Heaney. “I am delighted that The Bloomsbury’s desire to maintain its links with the poetry world are as strong as ever”, she wrote.

The special edition poetry book features a collection of 11 new poems from distinguished poets who all share a connection to Bloomsbury. Each poet was asked to propose or compose a new poem loosely based on travel and hotels.

Featured poets include Seamus Heaney, Sir Andrew Motion, Wendy Cope, David Harsent and Leontia Flynn, The Bloomsbury’s ‘Poet in residence’.

The book has been produced exclusively for The Bloomsbury and will be gifted to select hotel guests. The Bloomsbury will host a series of events with Poet in the City such as a breakfast on National Poetry Day, when the book will also be gifted to guests.

As a special preview, we’re delighted to share an extract from the book, a poem written by Seamus Heaney, chosen for the book by his wife, Marie Heaney;

Night Drive

The smell of ordinariness

Were new on the night drive through France;

Rain and hay and woods on the air

Made warm draughts in the open car.

Signposts whitened relentlessly.

Montrueil, Abbeville, Beauvais

Were promised, promised came and went,

Each place ganting its name’s fulfilment

A combine groaning its way late

Bled seeds across its work-light.

A forest fire smouldered out

One by one small cafes shut

I thought of you continously

A thousand miles south where Italy

Laid its loin to France on the darkened sphere.

Your ordinariness was renewed there.

Are you as passionate about poetry as The Bloomsbury? Tweet us at @HotelBloomsbury and tell us your favourite poem