Poem: A CERTAIN LADY by Dorothy Parker
Dorothy Parker (1893-1967) was a journalist, short story writer, critic, and poet known for being a brilliant conversationalist and the reigning wit of the "Round Table," a group of writers, intellectuals, and humorists who met regularly at Manhattan's Algonquin Hotel in the 1920s and 1930s. A common character in Parker's short stories and poems is the young, modern woman who has been liberated from the usual traditional roles of wife and mother and forges her own path through life. Parker also explores the dark side of this freer life, especially within romantic relationships. After reading the poem, click on the image below to see my presentation on "A Certain Lady," in which I discuss the poem's use of voice and speaker. (The screen is blank for the first minute or so, but the image of the poem appears soon.)
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Presentation: "A Certain Lady"
Links to an external site.
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A Certain Lady
Oh, I can smile for you, and tilt my head,
And drink your rushing words with eager lips,
And paint my mouth for you a fragrant red,
And trace your brows with tutored finger-tips.
When you rehearse your list of loves to me,
Oh, I can laugh and marvel, rapturous-eyed.
And you laugh back, nor can you ever see
The thousand little deaths my heart has died.
And you believe, so well I know my part,
That I am gay as morning, light as snow,
And all the straining things within my heart
You'll never know.
Oh, I can laugh and listen, when we meet,
And you bring tales of fresh adventurings, —
Of ladies delicately indiscreet,
Of lingering hands, and gently whispered things.
And you are pleased with me, and strive anew
To sing me sagas of your late delights.
Thus do you want me — marveling, gay, and true,
Nor do you see my staring eyes of nights.
And when, in search of novelty, you stray,
Oh, I can kiss you blithely as you go….
And what goes on, my love, while you're away,
You'll never know.
And drink your rushing words with eager lips,
And paint my mouth for you a fragrant red,
And trace your brows with tutored finger-tips.
When you rehearse your list of loves to me,
Oh, I can laugh and marvel, rapturous-eyed.
And you laugh back, nor can you ever see
The thousand little deaths my heart has died.
And you believe, so well I know my part,
That I am gay as morning, light as snow,
And all the straining things within my heart
You'll never know.
Oh, I can laugh and listen, when we meet,
And you bring tales of fresh adventurings, —
Of ladies delicately indiscreet,
Of lingering hands, and gently whispered things.
And you are pleased with me, and strive anew
To sing me sagas of your late delights.
Thus do you want me — marveling, gay, and true,
Nor do you see my staring eyes of nights.
And when, in search of novelty, you stray,
Oh, I can kiss you blithely as you go….
And what goes on, my love, while you're away,
You'll never know.