Dorothy Parker is one of my favorite poets. She’s brittle
and cynical and powerful. And she can pack more meaning into the fewest
syllables of any writer I know.
Last year I gave you two
of her poems, the two I probably love the best. But here are a couple more—see
what you think.
Inventory
Four be the things I am wiser to know:
Idleness, sorrow, a friend, and a foe.
Four be the things I’d been better without:
Love, curiosity, freckles, and doubt.
Three be the things I shall never attain:
Envy, content, and sufficient champagne.
Three be the things I shall have till I die:
Laughter and hope and a sock in the eye.
“One Perfect Rose” also distills modern life pretty well.
And it gives you an idea why it’s not a good idea to read a lot of Parker in
one go. Just a couple of poems, and maybe a short story; then out into the
sunshine for a brisk walk.
One Perfect Rose
A single flow'r he sent me, since we met.
All tenderly his messenger he chose;
Deep-hearted, pure, with scented dew still wet –
One perfect rose.
I knew the language of the floweret;
'My fragile leaves,' it said, 'his heart enclose.'
Love long has taken for his amulet
One perfect rose.
Why is it no one ever sent me yet
One perfect limousine, do you suppose?
No comments:
Post a Comment