#Dorothy Parker

[thepopculturearchivist]

LIFE, August 19, 1926

[milquetoast-zeitgeist]

[davidhudson]

Dorothy Parker, August 22, 1893 – June 7, 1967.

[lisamarie-vee]

[dabiconcordia]

"Four be the things I am wiser to know: Idleness, sorrow, a friend, and a foe. Four be the things I'd been better without: Love, curiosity, freckles, and doubt." ―  Dorothy Parker

[apoemaday]

But Not Forgotten

by Dorothy Parker

I think, no matter where you stray, That I shall go with you a way. Though you may wander sweeter lands, You will not soon forget my hands, Nor yet the way I held my head, Nor all the tremulous things I said. You still will see me, small and white And smiling, in the secret night, And feel my arms about you when The day comes fluttering back again. I think, no matter where you be, You’ll hold me in your memory And keep my image, there without me, By telling later loves about me.

[edwardian-masquerade]

"A single flow'r he sent me, since we met. All tenderly his messenger he chose; Deep-hearted, pure, with scented dew still wet—One perfect rose."

— Dorothy Parker, "One Perfect Rose"

[aaknopf]

The little poem that can punch above its weight has a long tradition in The New Yorker. No poem is too short to matter—as in Louise Bogan’s couplet below, with a title longer than the poem itself. With this sampling, we also offer up their excellent versions from the audiobook of the magazine’s poetry anthology, performed by a diverse community of professional narrators, who delighted in the chance to give voice to a vast array of poets and their work.

"Solitary Observation Brought Back From a Short Sojourn in Hell" by Louise Bogan

At midnight tears Run into your ears.

"Wake" by Langston Hughes

Tell all my mourners To mourn in red— ’Cause there ain’t no sense In my bein’ dead.

"Superfluous Advice" by Dorothy Parker

Should they whisper false of you,      Never trouble to deny; Should the words they speak be true,      Weep and storm and swear they lie.

"My Father Was a Snowman" by Sparrow

My father was a snowman, but he melted.

All that’s left is his eyes—two pieces of coal— that sit on my kitchen table and watch me as I walk around the room.

I ate his nose a long time ago.

More on this book and author:

Learn more about A Century of Poetry in The New Yorker and browse the companion centennial anthology, A Century of Fiction in The New Yorker.

Hear Kevin Young, poetry editor at The New Yorker and editor of A Century of Poetry in The New Yorker, speak to Knopf editor Deborah Garrison about the poetry anthology in a special New Yorker Poetry Podcast episode.  

Celebrate The New Yorker’s centenary with additional events throughout 2025 including special exhibitions from the New York Public Library (A Century of The New Yorker, running from Feb. 22, 2025 – Feb. 21, 2026 and available online here) and the Society of Illustrators (Drawn From The New Yorker, running from Jan 8, 2025 – May 3, 2025).

Visit our Tumblr to share this poem and peruse other poems, audio recordings, and broadsides in the Knopf poem-a-day series.

To share the poem-a-day experience with friends, pass along this link.

[ineffectualdemon]

Because this genuinely stayed my hand a huge number of times in my youth I want to share this poem

Resumé By Dorothy Parker

Razors pain you; Rivers are damp; Acids stain you; And drugs cause cramp. Guns aren’t lawful; Nooses give; Gas smells awful; You might as well live.

[frannib]

Immaculate April Fools

[thepopculturearchivist]

LIFE, December 1, 1927

[derangedrhythms]

I am hung with graveyard flowers.

Dorothy Parker, Enough Rope; from 'Rainy Night'

[victusinveritas]

[litandlifequotes]

By the time you swear you’re his, Shivering and sighing. And he vows his passion is, Infinite, undying. Lady, make note of this – One of you is lying.

“Unfortunate Coincidence” by Dorothy Parker

[dabiconcordia]

“If you want to know what God thinks of money, just look at the people he gave it to.” ― Dorothy Parker

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]