Since we’ve started this little poetry appreciation project it seems like I am constantly dredging up half-buried memories from high school and college. The entire time I was reading about Dorthy Parker I kept feeling that I knew her work from somewhere; when I came across her poem Resume I finally remembered where. Senior year in High School I was introduced to that particular piece by my Literature teacher who remarked that Ms. Parker was known for her sarcasm and satire and invited comparisons to yours truly.

As I read through her work, I have a suspicion that Dorthy Parker used sarcasm and wit the way I did in high school (hell, the way I do now) - to insulate myself away from people as a way to avoid being burned. She was much better at it than I ever was or will be.

On this poem - I would wager that we’ve all been on both sides of this poem in our lives; our hearts have “died the thousand little deaths” as we realize that we hold in ourselves a love that may never be returned, while at the same time we’ve also been oblivious to those who hold the same feelings for us. When I read this poem, I like to think that Dorothy Parker truly finds a measure of peace and contentment at the end and isn’t just throwing in the final lines as a smokescreen to her real feelings.

A Certain Lady #

Oh, I can smile for you, and tilt my head,
And drink your rushing words with eager lips,
And paint my mouth for you a fragrant red,
And trace your brows with tutored finger-tips.
When you rehearse your list of loves to me,
Oh, I can laugh and marvel, rapturous-eyed.
And you laugh back, nor can you ever see
The thousand little deaths my heart has died.
And you believe, so well I know my part,
That I am gay as morning, light as snow,
And all the straining things within my heart
You’ll never know.

Oh, I can laugh and listen, when we meet,
And you bring tales of fresh adventurings, –
Of ladies delicately indiscreet,
Of lingering hands, and gently whispered things.
And you are pleased with me, and strive anew
To sing me sagas of your late delights.
Thus do you want me – marveling, gay, and true,
Nor do you see my staring eyes of nights.
And when, in search of novelty, you stray,
Oh, I can kiss you blithely as you go ….
And what goes on, my love, while you’re away,
You’ll never know.