[486] Epitaph for a Darling Lady

All her hours were yellow sands,
Blown in foolish whorls and tassels;
Slipping warmly through her hands;
Patted into little castles.

Shiny day on shiny day
Tumbled in a rainbow clutter,
As she flipped them all away,
Sent them spinning down the gutter.

Leave for her a red young rose,
Go your way, and save your pity;
She is happy, for she knows
That her dust is very pretty.

	-- Dorothy Parker

Dorothy Parker at her vicious best - I don't know whether to laugh, wince or
simply admire the effortless skill with which she plucks just the right
word or phrase out of thin air, time and again. The second verse, in
particular, is a lovely blend of imagery and versification, both stamped
with Parker's unique touch.

It is perhaps that distinctive style that I most like Parker for - indeed,
of all the 'humorous' poets I am familiar with, she is perhaps the one most
greatly disserviced by the label. I've said a bit about Parker's style in
the past (see the links), but neglected to mention the sheer depth of her
insight into humanity (even more evident in her short stories,
incidentally), or her deft use of sarcasm and absurdity. Well, consider them
mentioned <g>.

Links:

We've run two of Parker's poems in the past: poem #150, poem #192.

-martin

From: Daniel Marsh <danm@>

In a word, I love it.  The marvelous imagery, coupled with the biting 
sarcasm that's so characteristic of Parker, its just wonderful.  Hours 
being made into sand castles is a great metaphor for idleness, and her 
final point makes for a nice emphasis on the whole thing.

Dorothy Parker may have been a sarcastic, cynical, and bitter woman, but 
she was an extremely talented sarcastic, cynical, and bitter woman.

		-Dan M