Gailhudson.net LC - Dorothy Parker

Works by Author - Dorothy Parker

RÉSUMÉ


Razors pain you;

Rivers are damp;

Acids stain you;

And drugs cause cramp.

Guns aren't lawful;

Nooses give;

Gas smells awful;

You might as well live.

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The Lady in Back

I don’t know what her name is, for you see we’ve never met;

I don’t know if she’s dark, or if she’s fair;

I don’t know if she’s young or old, or rich or poor—and yet

Whatever place I chance to go, she’s there.

I don’t know where she came from, and I don’t know where she’ll go;

Why fate has linked our lives I cannot see,

The world’s so full of people—oh, I’d really like to know

Why must she always sit in back of me?



She’s always right on duty when I go to see a play—

Unfailingly, she’s seen that play before,

And so she tells what’s coming, in her entertaining way—

For me, the drama holds surprise no more.

"Now watch, the husband enters, as I told you that he would,

At first you’ll think he’ll shoot her, but he’ll not.

And later she goes back to him, and says that she’ll be good"—

Obligingly she thus unfolds the plot.



When I am at the opera, of course she’s sure to come.

She there adopts another policy—

The more familiar arias she feels obliged to hum,

And always just a trifle off the key.

But when the singers reach those heights to which she can not climb—

Oh, then I plumb the very depths of gloom!

For, lest I be too happy, she will occupy that time

By long accounts of who’s in love with whom.



I never can avoid her at the humble picture show,

Of course, the film is always one she’s seen

Reliable as Mary’s lamb, she’s right behind, I know,

Revealing all the secrets of the screen.

When heroes tumble over cliffs, as movie heroes will,

And villains blow up bridges, just for fun,

I know that she takes pleasure in extinguishing my thrill

By telling just exactly how it’s done.



I really couldn’t tell you if she’s widow, maid, or wife;

I’ve never heard about her family;

I don’t know who appointed her to take the joy from life,

I can’t imagine what she sees in me.

I often sit and think of it, and wonder why it’s so,

Why, every place that I am, she is too,

The whole wide world to choose from—oh, I’d really like to know

Why can’t she sometimes sit in back of you?

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ABSENCE

I never thought that heav’n would lose its blue

        And sullen storm-clouds mask the gentle sky;

I never thought the rose’s velvet hue

        Would pale and sicken, though we said good-by.

I never dreamed the lark would hush its not

        As day succeeded ever-drearier day,

Nor knew the song that swelled the robin’s throat

        Would fade to silence, when you went away.

               

I never knew the sun’s irradiant beams

        Upon the brooding earth no more would shine,

Nor thought that only in my mocking dreams

        Would happiness that once I know be mine.

I never thought the slim moon, mournfully,

        Would shroud her pallid self in murky night.

Dear heart, I never thought these things would be—

        I never thought they would, and I was right.

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LYRIC

How the arrogant iris would wither and fade  

If the soft summer dew never fell.

And the timid arbutus that hides in the shade

Would no longer make fragrant the dell! 

All the silver-flecked fishes would languish and die

Were it not for the foam-spangled streams;

Little brooks could not flow, without rain from the sky; 

Nor a poet get on without dreams.



If the blossoms refused their pale honey, the bees 

Must in idleness hunger and pine;

While the moss cannot live, when it’s torn from the trees,

Nor the waxen-globed mistletoe twine.

Were it not for the sunshine, the birds wouldn’t  sing,

And the heavens would never be blue.

But of all Nature’s works, the most wonderful thing

Is how well I get on without you.

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SONG FOR THE FIRST OF THE MONTH

Money cannot fill our needs,

               Bags of gold have little worth:

Thoughtful ways and kindly deeds

               Make a heaven here on earth.

Riches do not always score,

               Loving words are better far.

Just one helpful act is more

               Than a gaudy motor car.

Happy thoughts contentment bring

               Crabbed millionaires can’t know;

Money doesn’t mean a thing—

            Try to tell the butcher so!



None can stretch his life an hour

               Though he offer boundless wealth:

Money, spite of all its pow’r,

               Cannot purchase ruddy health.

Simple pleasures are the best,

               Riches bring but misery,

Homely hearts are happiest,

               Joy laughs loud at poverty.

Pity those in Mammon’s thrall,

               Poor , misguided souls are they,

Money’s nothing, after all—

            Make the grocer think that way!



Greatest minds the world has known

               All agree that gold is dross

Man can’t live by wealth alone;

               Bank books are a total loss.

Banish strife and greed and gloom,

               Throw off money’s harsh control,

Sow good deeds, and watch them bloom—

               Hyacinths, to feed the soul.

Hoard no pelf, lest moth and rust

               Do their work and leave you flat.

Money?  It is less than dust—

            Laugh the landlord off with that!

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BALTO

(The Lead Dog of the Team That Brought Antitoxin to Nome)

I think that you could only pity me

Who’d want to weep and stroke your head and coo

And murmur little names, mellifluously,

And know no other thing to do.



What should I do, but drop my eyes, and strain

To cloak the meanness of my offerings,

Who an aggrieved at cold, and hide from pain,

And live with little, little things.



My days slip by in thin and wavering line;

Softened my life to such as sick men lead.

And sharp there cuts across dimmed hours like mine

The cold white radiance of your deed.



Outraging cornered Death, you held the course

Against the whining night, the whirling day.

When man gave over to the inhuman force,

Then it was you who led the way.



Though never trumpet urged you to the fight,

And roystering rush of war was not your part,

Your spirit was a rocket in the night,

You bore a banner in your heart.



Not hope of cited glory led you then,

Simply, so went your days since they began.

You did the thing, not thought of it again,

A very gallant gentleman.

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SONG OF THE OPEN COUNTRY

When lights are low, and the day has died,

I sit and dream of the countryside.



Where sky meets earth at the meadow’s end,

       I dream of a clean and wind-swept space

Where each tall tree is a stanch old friend,

       And each frail bud turns a trusting face.

A purling brook, with each purl a pray’r,

       To the bending grass its secret tells;

While, softly borne on the scented air,

       Comes the far-off chime of chapel bells.

A tiny cottage I seem to see,

       In its quaint old garden set apart;

And a Sabbath calm steals over me,

       While peace dwells deep in my brooding heart.



And I thank whatever gods look down

That I am living right here in town.