Dorothy Parker and the Round Table of sophisticated New Yorkers held an alluring atmosphere in my adolescent mind. So much so, I hunted down obscure texts by Robert Benchley, and Alexander Woolcott, two of the mainstays. The literati of the twenties were probably looked upon as obnoxious snobbish decadent do-nothings, by those in the hard working Midwest. Or, as shining examples of the glittery world of the promised land called New York City. I doubt if the writers, performers etc., that comprised the lunch crowd at the Algonquin Hotel in midtown Manhattan cared a whit what people thought of them. They were too busy one upping the other’s witticisms. Dorothy Parker is perceived as a sort of cardboard wiseacre. Her literary achievements are lost to time, except among those of us still enamored of the romantic idea of pole sitters, bobbed hair, speakeasies, jazz, Bing Crosby singing with Paul Whitman, silent Garbo, and Zelda Fitzgerald. Long ago, I read the official bio of Parker, but have forgotten practically every detail of her life except her love affair with MacArthur, later Helen Hayes’ husband and father of Hawaii 5-0’s Danno. If I remember correctly, and let’s not assume I do, Parker and MacArthur were quite a couple, and she, pregnant by him, got an abortion. Illegal, yes, but common none the less. And much more dangerous. She wrote poetry, many pieces beyond
News Item
“Men seldom make passes at girls who wear glasses.”
She was a critic for various magazines. The New Yorker was her home for many years. Yes, “Katharine Hepburn ran the gamut of emotions from A to B.” is really a quote of hers–spoken, however, not written. And there are a plethora of others. What seems to be forgotten is her writing, her short stories and serious poems. Marion Mead,
the author of that bio I can’t recall, has assembled all of Parker’s best work into a cleverly covered portable book, naturally named, The Portable Dorothy Parker. While in college, I took a course titled something along the lines of “The Inter War Years”. A history class, the professor was willing for us to create clever ways in which to represent those years between the first world war, and the second. A period I’ve always enjoyed. My favorite inter war personality was Shirley Temple. I performed a class presentation, with, “You Got To Eat Your Spinach”, and “The Simple Things In Life” songs recordings of hers I played –all to drive home my point of her influence in keeping the country from falling further into depression, both emotionally and financially. She single handedly saved Fox Movie Studios from going under. And of course, I loved Parker–and so did my roommate and classmate. For her oral presentation she asked me to read a short story of Parker’s (I was the theatre major)–I believe it was Big Blonde, but that was so many years ago, I’m lucky I remember the class itself. We both gained an A–not an unusual state for her, but a nice acknowledgement for me.
I believe that Parker stands up today as well as she did back in the 70s and in her own lifetime. Her poems could fit any one of us now. Her short stories still contain poignant moments that are understandable in today’s world. Here are a couple examples of her poetry, some painfully funny, some just plain painful. She’s worth a second look, or first, if you’ve not been captured by her up to now. Enjoy.
Bric -a-Brac
Little things that no one needs—
Little things to joke about—
Little landscapes, done in beads,
Little morals, woven out,
Little wreaths of gilded grass,
Little brigs of whittled oak,
Bottled painfully in glass;
These are made by lonely folk.
Lonely folk have lines of days
Long and faltering and thin;
Therefore—little wax bouquets,
Prayers cut upon a pin,
Little maps of pinkish lands,
Little charts of curly seas,
Little plats of linen strands,
Little verses, such as these.
A poem such as this wouldn’t be immediately associated with the witty Parker, but it represents more of her personality than the quick remarks or droll humor. She was a slightly tortured soul, always looking for love, finding it, losing it, or giving it away, and back to being alone with her poetry and short stories.
Rueben’s Children
Accursed from birth they be
Who seek to find monogamy
Pursuing it from bed to bed—
I think they would be better dead.
A little more on the humorous side, yet with a heartfelt point of view.
Unfortunate Coincidence
By the time you swear you’re his,
Shivering and Sighing,
And he vows his passion is
Infinite, undying—-
Lady, make a note of this:
One of you is lying.
The cynical Parker in this short ditty. And she was sure bitter about love, yet kept entering into it whenever possible.
Observation
If I don’t drive around the park,
I’m pretty sure to make my mark.
If I’m in bed each night by ten,
I may get back my looks again.
If I abstain from fun and such,
I’ll probably amount to much;
But I shall stay the way I am,
Because I do not give a damn.
And I believe her.
And my personal favorite—
Resume
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.
This could only come from someone who has been on that edge one too many times. It’s hilariously serious and sad. And oh so true.
