Favorite Videos: “Dorothy Parker Reads ‘Inscription for the Ceiling of a Bedroom'”
I bypassed the Sylvia Plath obsession many young English majors go through and Anne Sexton’s life story gave me nauseating flashbacks that made enjoying her poetry impossible. So, by the time I was a freshman in college, Dorothy Parker was the only poet I acknowledged. Her irreverence in the face of crippling depression and familial suicide, her vehement distaste for injustice and her insight into the circular patterns of human cruelty were all things I recognized and respected. A few years later, I was fortunate enough to find a Modern Library collection of her work for $7 at Dickson Street Bookstore in Fayetteville. The previous owner had been kind enough to paste a copy of her obituary inside the back cover.
I don’t know that there’s strength or virtue in being a survivor. I do have a healthy amount of respect for the people that make it out of bed each morning (even when they might not want to).
