Dorothy Parker (1893 - 1967)

Dorothy Parker was one of the most successful and influential women writers of her era. Dorothy Rothschild was born on August 22, 1893 in West End, N.J. Her mother was Scottish and her father Jewish. She was "a late unexpected arrival in a loveless family". At the age of four her mother died. Her father remarried and Dorothy's home life was strained and distant at best. She was educated in private schools in N.J. and N.Y.C. Dorothy suffered two tragedies as a young woman. Her brother Henry died aboard the Titanic and a yearlater her father passed away. Dorothy moved to New York City in 1911 where she lived in a boarding house and worked as a piano player at a dance school. At the age of 21 she began submitting her writing to various magazines and papers. Her poem "Any Porch" was accepted and published by Vanity Fair. A few months later she was hired by Vogue, a sister publication of Vanity Fair. While working at Vogue her submissions to Vanity Fair continued to be published. After two years of working at Vogue she was transferred to Vanity Fair. In 1917 she married Edwin Parker, a stock broker. The marriage only lasted a brief time, but now she was Mrs. Dorothy Parker. At Vanity Fair she became New York's only female drama critic at the time. In the spring of 1919 she was invited to the Algonquin Hotel because of her connections at Vanity Fair and her reputation as a drama critic. This was the beginning of the famous Algonquin Round Table, an renowned intellectual literary circle.Dorothy was the only female founding member. It brought together such writers as Robert Benchley, Robert Sherwood, James Thurber, George Kaufman and many others. Dorothy was still writing for Vanity Fair but her reviews were becoming increasingly sarcastic and unfavorable. She was fired from the magazine in 1921. To earn money she began writing subtitles for a movie by D.W. Griffith.

Dorothy soon found another job at the magazine Ainslee's where she could be as sarcastic, bitchy, and witty as she pleased. In 1922 she wrote her first short story - "Such a PrettyLittle Picture" - this was the beginning of her literary career. In January of 1924 Dorothy divorced and moved into the Algonquin Hotel. She began writing plays; "Close Harmony" was her first. The first issue of The New Yorker was published in early 1925 and Dorothy contributed drama reviews and poetry for the first few issues. In February of 1926 she set off for Paris, but continued contributing articles to the New Yorker and Life. While in France she befriended Earnest Hemingway; surprisingly, considering his male chauvinist attitudes. Dorothy returned to New York in November. Her first book of poetry, "Enough Rope", was published and received favorable reviews as well ad being a commercial success. In 1927 she became very involved in the Sacco and Vanzetti trial. She traveled to Boston to join the protests against the execution of two innocent men. During the protest she was arrested but refused to travel in the paddy wagon, insisting on walking to jail. She was a committed socialist from this day until her death.

In October Dorothy became the book reviewer for the The New Yorker Magazine, under the title "The Constant Reader". In February of 1929 Dorothy's short story "The Big Blonde" was published and she won the prestigious O. Henry award for the best short story of the year. That same year Dorothy began doing screen writing in Hollywood. She moved to Hollywoodbecause she needed the money and was offered a contract by MGM. Dorothy wrote many screenplays over the next decade. In 1933 she once again traveled to Europe where she met her second husband Alan Campbell. He was also of Scottish-Jewish descent, and a rumored bisexual. They became screen writing partners and signed a contract with Paramount Pictures in 1935. In 1936 she helped found the Anti Nazi League. In 1937 Dorothy won an academy award for her joint screenplay of "A Star is Born".

Throughout the 1940's Dorothy continued writing prose and short stories along with screenplays. She was widely published in many magazines and Viking released an anthology of her short stories and prose. In 1949 she divorced Alan Campbell, but later they remarried.

In the 1950's she was called before the House on un-American Activities and pleaded the first instead of the fifth, still refusing to name any names. In 1952-1953 testimonywas given against her before the HUAC. From 1957-1963 she worked as a book reviewer for Esquire magazine. In 1959 she was inducted into American Academy of Arts and Letters. She was a distinguished Visiting Professor of English at California State College in L.A. In 1964 she published her final magazine piece in November's issue of Esquire.

On June 7, 1967, she was found dead of a heart attack in her room at Hotel Volney in New York City. She bequeathed her entire literary estate to the NAACP.

The poems are by default sorted according to volume, but you can also choose to sort them alphabetically or by page views.

First Line	Comments
"And if he's gone away," said she,
"It's queer," she said; "I see the light
"So surely is she mine," you say, and turn
"Then we will have tonight!" we said.
... So, praise the gods, Catullus is away!
(J. H., 1905-1930)
The Lives and Times of John Keats,
A dream lies dead here. May you softly go
A nobler king had never breath-
A single flow'r he sent me, since we met.	20 Comments
A string of shiny days we had,
Accursed from their birth they be
All her hours were yellow sands,
Although I work, and seldom cease,
Always I knew that it could not last
And if my heart be scarred and burned,
And if, my friend, you'd have it end,
And let her loves, when she is dead,
And now I have another lad!	8 Comments
Authors and actors and artists and such
Back of my back, they talk of me,	1 Comment
Because my love is quick to come and go-
Because your eyes are slant and slow,
By the time you swear you're his,	2 Comments
Carlyle combined the lit'ry life
Chloe's hair, no doubt, was brighter;
Daily dawns another day;	1 Comment
Daily I listen to wonder and woe,
Dante Gabriel Rossetti
Dear dead Victoria
Dearest one, when I am dead	8 Comments
Death's the lover that I'd be taking;
Drink and dance and laugh and lie,	4 Comments
Every love's the love before	4 Comments
For one, the amaryllis and the rose;
For this my mother wrapped me warm,
Four be the things I am wiser to know:	1 Comment
Ghosts of all my lovely sins,	1 Comment
Go I must along my ways
God's acre was her garden-spot, she said;
Half across the world from me
He will love you presently
He'd have given me rolling lands,	6 Comments
Helen of Troy had a wandering glance;
Her mind lives in a quiet room,
Here in my heart I am Helen;
Hope it was that tutored me,	1 Comment
How shall I wail, that wasn't meant for weeping?
I always saw, I always said	3 Comments
I cannot rest, I cannot rest
I do not like my state of mind;
I know I have been happiest at your side;
I met a man the other day-
I never may turn the loop of a road	1 Comment
I never see that prettiest thing-	2 Comments
I shall come back without fanfaronade	1 Comment
I shall tread, another year,
I think that I shall never know
I think, no matter where you stray,	2 Comments
I was seventy-seven, come August,
I'm sick of embarking in dories
I'm wearied of wearying love, my friend,	1 Comment
I. The Minor Poet
If I don't drive around the park,	1 Comment
If I had a shiny gun,	5 Comments
If I should labor through daylight and dark,	2 Comments
If I were mild, and I were sweet,
If it shine or if it rain,
If wild my breast and sore my pride,	2 Comments
If you should sail for Trebizond, or die,
If, with the literate, I am
In April, in April,
In May my heart was breaking-	2 Comments
In the pathway of the sun,	3 Comments
In youth, it was a way I had	1 Comment
Into love and out again,
It costs me never a stab nor squirm
Joy stayed with me a night --	4 Comments
Lady, if you'd slumber sound,
Lady, lady, never start	2 Comments
Lady, lady, should you meet
Leave me to my lonely pillow.
Let another cross his way-	2 Comments
Lilacs blossom just as sweet	1 Comment
Little things that no one needs-
Little white love, your way you've taken;
Long I fought the driving lists,
Love has gone a-rocketing.
Love has had his way with me.
Love is sharper than stones or sticks;
Maidens, gather not the yew,
Men seldom make passes
My answers are inadequate	1 Comment
My garden blossoms pink and white,
My hand, a little raised, might press a star-	1 Comment
My heart went fluttering with fear
My land is bare of chattering folk;	2 Comments
My own dear love, he is strong and bold	3 Comments
Needle, needle, dip and dart,	4 Comments
Never love a simple lad,
New love, new love, where are you to lead me?	3 Comments
No more my little song comes back;
Now this must be the sweetest place	1 Comment
Oh, both my shoes are shiny new,
Oh, gallant was the first love, and glittering and fine;
Oh, I can smile for you, and tilt my head,
Oh, I should like to ride the seas,
Oh, I'd been better dying,	3 Comments
Oh, is it, then, Utopian
Oh, lead me to a quiet cell	1 Comment
Oh, let it be a night of lyric rain
Oh, life is a glorious cycle of song,	1 Comment
Oh, mercifullest one of all,	2 Comments
Oh, ponder, friend, the porcupine;	1 Comment
Oh, seek, my love, your newer way;
Oh, there once was a lady, and so I've been told,
Oh, when I flung my heart away,	1 Comment
On sweet young earth where the myrtle presses,
Once, when I was young and true,	4 Comments
Razors pain you;	23 Comments
Roses, rooted warm in earth,	1 Comment
Say my love is easy had,
Secrets, you said, would hold us two apart;
She that begs a little boon
She's passing fair; but so demure is she,
Should Heaven send me any son,	2 Comments
Should they whisper false of you.
Sleep, pretty lady, the night is enfolding you;	1 Comment
So delicate my hands, and long,
So let me have the rouge again,
So silent I when Love was by
So take my vows and scatter them to sea;
Some men break your heart in two,
Some men, some men	1 Comment
Star, that gives a gracious dole,
Such glorious faith as fills your limpid eyes,	1 Comment
The bird that feeds from off my palm
The day that I was christened-	1 Comment
The days will rally, wreathing
The first time I died, I walked my ways;	3 Comments
The friends I made have slipped and strayed,	2 Comments
The ladies men admire, I've heard,
The pure and worthy Mrs. Stowe
The stars are soft as flowers, and as near;	2 Comments
The sun's gone dim, and	1 Comment
The things she knew, let her forget again-	1 Comment
Then let them point my every tear,	2 Comments
There still are kindly things for me to know,
There was a rose that faded young;	28 Comments
There was one a-riding grand
There's little in taking or giving,	5 Comments
There's little to have but the things I had,
There's many and many, and not so far,	3 Comments
They hail you as their morning star	4 Comments
They hurried here, as soon as you had died,	1 Comment
They laid their hands upon my head,	16 Comments
They say He was a serious child,
They say of me, and so they should,
This I say, and this I know:	4 Comments
This is what I vow;
This level reach of blue is not my sea;
This, no song of an ingenue,
Tonight my love is sleeping cold
Too long and quickly have I lived to vow
Travel, trouble, music, art,	2 Comments
Unseemly are the open eyes
Unto seventy years and seven,
Upon the work of Walter Landor
We shall have our little day.
Were you to cross the world, my dear,	3 Comments
What time the gifted lady took
When first we saw the apple tree
When I admit neglect of Gissing,
When I am old, and comforted,
When I consider, pro and con,	1 Comment
When I was bold, when I was bold-
When I was young and bold and strong,	3 Comments
When my eyes are weeds,
When you are gone, there is nor bloom nor leaf,
Who call him spurious and shoddy
Who lay against the sea, and fled,	3 Comments
Who was there had seen us	3 Comments
Whose love is given over-well	1 Comment
Why is it, when I am in Rome,	4 Comments
With you, my heart is quiet here,
Woman wants monogamy;	13 Comments
You are brief and frail and blue-	2 Comments
You know the bloom, unearthly white,
[and scarcely worth the trouble, at that]	1 Comment