Enough Rope by Dorothy Parker

Source of book: I own this. 

 

One of my goals this year was to read something from my collected Dorothy Parker poems and stories. I decided to go with poetry first. 

 

It is easy to admire someone like Parker, even while being glad to have never been the subject of her acid tongue and pen. (When informed that President Coolidge had died, she quipped, “How could they tell?”) She was an anti-fascist her entire life, which naturally drew the ire of Joseph McCarthy, who labeled her a communist. And she had male critics dismiss her as a “flapper poet” even as her works sold well. 

Enough Rope contains over 80 short poems, most of them on the subject of love gone bad. In that sense, the collection did feel a bit repetitive by the end - Parker never tired of her subject, apparently.

 

If one were to summarize the ideas, they would be roughly as follows: Men and women are very different, and have different goals for relationships. Society reinforces this by rewarding promiscuity in men and punishing it in women. Thus, it is to be expected that men will want to play with women, love them and leave them, never actually giving of themselves. Women will want commitment and love, but men will never give it to them. And yet women will keep looking for love and not finding it.

 

It’s a pretty bleak picture, and if it was indeed Parker’s life experience, it is a sad one. 

 

I don’t think it is particularly accurate, as plenty of women like to toy with men’s hearts, and plenty of men want commitment. But there you have it. 

 

I would also put the poems themselves in the category of good, but not great. They never quite rise to the highest level, the poems that make you gasp. Rather, they are competently written, and enjoyable to read. At their best, they display the poisonous wit that Parker was best known for. 

 

In general, the poems are in traditional forms, from rhymed couplets to sonnets. Parker shows good technical skill throughout. 

 

I selected a few of the best, spanning a range of topics. 

 

Threnody

 

Lilacs blossom just as sweet

Now my heart is shattered.

If I bowled it down the street,

Who’s to say it mattered?

If there’s one that rode away

What would I be missing?

Lips that taste of tears, they say,

Are the best for kissing.

 

Eyes that watch the morning star

Seem a little brightened;

Arms held out to darkness are

Usually whiter.

Shall I bar the strolling guest,

Bind my brow with willow,

When, they say, the empty breast

Is the softer pillow?

 

That a heart falls tinkling down,

Never think it ceases.

Every likely lad in town

Gathers up the pieces.

If there’s one gone whistling by

Would I let it grieve me?

Let him wonder if I lie;

Let him half believe me. 

 

A “threnody” is a poetic lament for the dead. In this case, it is Parker’s dead love that she mourns. 

 

The False Friends

 

They laid their hands upon my head,

They stroked my check and brow; 

And time could heal a hurt, they said,

And time could dim a vow.

 

And they were pitiful and mild

Who whispered to me then,

“The heart that breaks in April, child,

Will mend in May again.”

 

Oh, many a mended heart they knew,

So old they were, and wise.

And little did they have to do

To come to me with lies!

 

Who flings me silly talk of May

Shall meet a bitter soul;

For June was nearly spent away

Before my heart was whole. 

 

The twist at the end is fun. 

 

A Very Short Song

 

Once, when I was young and true,

Someone left me sad - 

Broke my brittle heart in two;

And that is very bad.

 

Love is for unlucky folk,

Love is but a curse.

Once there was a heart I broke;

And that, I think, is worse.

 

Many of her poems have this twist in the last few lines, or the last stanza. Here is another. 

 

Somebody’s Song

 

            This is what I vow:

He shall have my heart to keep;

Sweetly will we stir and sleep,

            All the years, as now.

Swift the measured sands may run;

Love like this is never done;

He and I are welded one:

This is what I vow.

 

This is what I pray:

Keep him by me tenderly;

Keep him sweet in pride of me,

Ever and a day;

Keep me from the old distress;

Let me, for our happiness,

Be the one to love the less:

This is what I pray.

           

This is what I know:

Lovers’ oaths are thin as rain;

Love’s a harbinger of pai - 

Would it were not so!

Ever is my heart athirst,

Ever is my love accurst;

He is neither last nor first:

This is what I know. 

 

Poor Dorothy Parker. Even love itself hates her. 

 

Anecdote

 

So silent I when Love was by

He yawned, and turned away;

But sorrow clings to my apron-strings,

I have so much to say.           

 

And this one to go with it:

 

For a Sad Lady

 

And let her loves, when she is dead,

Write this above her bones:

“No more she lives to give us bread

Who asked her only stones.”

 

There are several sonnets in the book, and I think they are arguably her best poems, with a bit more nuance. I liked this one best.

 

I Know I Have Been Happiest

 

I know I have been happiest at your side; 

But what is done, is done, and all’s to be.

And small the good, to linger dolefully - 

Gayly it lived, and gallantly it died.

I will not make you songs of hearts denied,

And you, being man, would have no tears of me,

And should I offer you fidelity,

You’d be, I think, a little terrified.

 

Yet this the need of woman, this her curse:

To range her little gifts, and give, and give,

Because the throb of giving’s sweet to bear.

To you, who never begged me vows or verse,

My gift shall be my absence, while I live;

But after that, my dear, I cannot swear.

 

Again, the last two lines. She saves that twist until the last, the refusal to promise not to haunt her faithless lover. This is the first of a series of sonnets that have to do with mortality. Here is another I liked:

 

Condolence

 

They hurried here, as soon as you had died,

Their faces damp with haste and sympathy. ,

And pressed my hand in theirs, and smoothed my knee,

And clicked their tongues, and watched me, mournful eyed.

Gently they told me of that Other Side - 

How, even then, you waited there for me,

And what ecstatic meeting ours would be.

Moved by the lovely tale, they broke, and cried.

 

And when I smiled, they told me I was brave,

And they rejoiced that I was comforted,

And left, to tell of all the help they gave.

But I had smiled to think how you, the dead,

So curiously preoccupied and grave,

Would laugh, could you have heard the things they said. 

 

Not all of the poems are about human things, although she doesn’t write of nature per se. This one made me laugh. 

 

Verse For a Certain Dog

 

Such glorious faith as fills your limpid eyes,

Dear little friend of mine, I never knew.

All-innocent are you, and yet all-wise.

(For heaven’s sake, stop worrying that shoe!)

You look about, and all you see is fair;

This mighty globe was made for you alone.

Of all the thunderous ages, you’re the heir.

(Get off the pillow with that dirty bone!)

 

A skeptic world you face with steady gaze;

High in young pride you hold your noble head;

Gayly you meet the rush of roaring days.

(Must you eat puppy biscuit on the bed?)

Lancelike your courage, gleaming swift and strong,

Yours the white rapture of a winged soul,

Yours is a spirit like a May-day song.

(God help you, if you break the goldfish bowl!)

 

“Whatever is good” - your gracious creed.

You wear your joy of living like a crown.

Love lights your simplest act, your every deed.

(Drop it, I tell you - put that kitten down!)

You are God’s kindliest gift of all - a friend.

Your shining loyalty unflecked by doubt,

You ask but leave to follow to the end.

(Couldn’t you wait until I took you out?)

 

All of us who love our furry creatures understand this poem all too well. 

 

Here is another of her more humorous poems.

 

Song of Perfect Propriety

 

Oh, I should like to ride the seas,

A roaring buccaneer;

A cutlass banging at my knees,

A dirk behind my ear.

And when my captives' chains would clank

I'd howl with glee and drink,

And then fling out the quivering plank

And watch the beggars sink.

 

I'd like to straddle gory decks,

And dig in laden sands,

And know the feel of throbbing necks

Between my knotted hands.

Oh, I should like to strut and curse

Among my blackguard crew . . .

But I am writing little verse,

As little ladies do.

 

Oh, I should like to dance and laugh

And pose and preen and sway,

And rip the hearts of men in half,

And toss the bits away.

I'd like to view the reeling years

Through unastonished eyes,

And dip my finger-tips in tears

And give my smiles for sighs.

 

I'd stroll beyond the ancient bounds,

And tap at fastened gates,

And hear the prettiest of sounds -

The clink of shattered fates.

My slaves I'd like to bind with thongs

That cut and burn and chill . . .

But I am writing little songs,

As little ladies will.

 

One can all too easily imagine Parker as a buccaneer. 

 

I’ll end with another song about bad love. 

 

Love Song

 

My own dear love, he is strong and bold

And he cares not what comes after.

His words ring sweet as a chime of gold,

And his eyes are lit with laughter.

He is jubilant as a flag unfurled - 

Oh, a girl, she’d not forget him. 

My own dear love, he is all my world - 

And I wish I’d never met him. 

 

My love, he’s mad, and my love, he’s fleet,

And a wild young wood-thing bore him!

The ways are fair to his roaming feet,

And the skies are sunlit for him.

As sharply sweet to my heart he seems

As the fragrance of acacia.

My own dear love, he is all my dreams - 

And I wish he were in Asia.

 

My love runs by like a day in June,

And he makes no friends of sorrows.

He’ll tread his galloping rigadoon

In the pathway of the morrows.

He’ll live his days where the sunbeams start

Nor could storm or wind uproot him.

My own dear love, he is all my heart - 

And I wish somebody’d shoot him. 

 

That is about as Dorothy Parker as Dorothy Parker could ever be. 

 

My volume has her other two major collections of poetry, as well as her short stories. I am looking forward to reading more.