I've decided to take an online poetry course on Universal Class, and this is my first assignment. I've decided that posting the assignments on my blog holds me double accountable for the content. It's been a while since I've written about literature, so I felt a bit rusty, but it slowly became fun. Cheers!
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Many years ago, I purchased The Portable Dorothy Parker. Immediately,
I noted how completely un-portable it really is -- the thing is huge! It
requires an oversized purse or backpack if you want to take it along to read on
the train or on your coffee break, and you certainly wouldn’t want to lug it
around for too long. I think that’s Dorothy’s little joke, though. Her sense of
humor is both delightful and deprecating, and it rings through even in the
title of her anthology.
I’ve read a few of her short stories,
but mostly I just adore those poems. There’s something refreshing about her
style, and her pacing draws me in. She has a certain rhythm and rhyming pattern
that much of my early poetry relates to, and a sort of humor my older self
understands. While, a younger version of me relished in her love (or lack thereof)
poems, it is her more philosophical pieces that strike me now. Take “Philosophy”
(aptly named) for instance.
If I should labor through daylight and dark,
Consecrate, valorous, serious, true,
Then on the world I may blazon my mark;
And what if I don’t, and what if I do?
There’s something about this poem that
rings true to me as an artist, and something about her “I don’t give a damn”
attitude that rings true to me as a person. She almost always throws in that
final zing at the end, which I also adore. For instance in “Indian Summer,”
another favorite which appears just above “Philosophy” in my anthology. She
ends with, “And if you do not like me so, To hell, my love, with you!”
I don’t know that I’ve yet mastered
her gift of the zing, but I surely like to end my poetry, my films, and my
writing with a bit of a twist. Here’s one I wrote during the National Poetry
Month challenge two years ago after a disastrous cupcake baking experience.
Cake,
imploded
upon itself
and
burning
remnants,
remind
me
I'm no
Martha
Campy
smells
and a
snowy outdoors
coming
in
to
lessen the smoke
tell me
laugh,
don't
cry,
sometimes
smoke gets in
your
eyes
And
you forget,
it's a
better memory
I’m glad Dorothy Parker left us with
so many of her memories, lessons, quips, and stories. She took her miseries,
and made her readers a little happier. I guess that’s what I always aim to do
with my poetry – take my own lessons,
ideas, joys, and pains, and make
those who read my words a little happier by seeing they’re not alone.
