I think that I shall never know
Why I am thus, and I am so.
Around me, other girls inspire
In men the rush and roar of fire,
The sweet transparency of glass,
The tenderness of April grass,
The durability of granite;
But me- I don't know how to plan it.
The lads I've met in Cupid's deadlock
Were- shall we say?- born out of wedlock.
They broke my heart, they stilled my song,
And said they had to run along,
Explaining, so to sop my tears,
First came their parents or careers.
But ever does experience
Deny me wisdom, calm, and sense!
Though she's a fool who seeks to capture
The twenty-first fine, careless rapture,
I must go on, till ends my rope,
Who from my birth was cursed with hope.
A heart in half is chaste, archaic;
But mine resembles a mosaic-
The thing's become ridiculous!
Why am I so? Why am I thus?
thus is cute it made me cry..
Such a hopeful person.
WOW i really love this poem
She just about described my heart's story with her words. Amazing.
A very engaging and fascinating write. So beautifully and cleverly crafted and expressed
Love cannot make you down, but sadness is there where love fallen into the dungeon cheated pit!
Nicely expressed thoughts and feelings in verse with rhythmic splendour......
Dorothy Parker was simply one of those rarities in modern poetry who could write and deliver choice poems to amaze and engage a reader. Her brilliant mind has left a brilliant legacy. Sleep well Dorothy Parker sleep well. And thank you.
This poem is by me not Dorothy Parker
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem
Dorothy Parker wrote with superlative wit. In her poetry and prose alike. Her ironic turn of phrase doesn't cease to smile out at us from a cheeky sideways gaze. Notwithstanding the earnest gravity in her questions (Why? and why?) , her regard holds fast to its humor (neither pallid nor pink) . An onerous thought in an onerous world lives cheek by jowl with laughter; unblanched and effervescent....... Er possibly that of the damned. But damned she is a pleasure. What succor, moreover, to return once and then to a modernist poet that can rhyme in verse without, all the while, being carried where the RHYME wants to go! Tonight I drink to Dorothy