So, this morning on the Today Show, Katie was interviewing a woman who had put together a book where all these famous poets talked about the first poem that they had fallen in love with--the poem that made them love poetry.

Mine isn't a poem so much as a poet.

When I was 14 I went away to boarding school, Interlochen Arts Academy, as a drama major. All of the majors immediately put on a performance with about a week of rehearsals or less, as a way of unifying the department.

Well, the drama majors were split into two shows, one, the one I was in, actually, I cannot remember at all. We were on risers, we read it, it didn't stick at all. The other group put on Big Blonde by Dorothy Parker.

They performed the story, different people doing the narration, but what made it special is that one girl, tall, slim, dark-haired, played Dorothy, interjecting poems here and there.

It blew my mind.

I believe that I had recently been indoctrinated against rhyming poetry, as non-rhyming poetry is just so much more sophisticated and all. Well, these poems knocked that idea in a cocked hat.

They were almost entirely from Enough Rope, still one of my favourite volumes of all time--I was never as enamoured by her later poetry, and the next day I went to the library and got out The Portable Dorothy Parker and wouldn't return it until I had a chance to buy my own copy.

I still know great hunks of these poems off by heart, even though I haven't read them in years. In looking for a poem to quote, I've been reading the first line and then realizing that I can still recite the rest of it.

Boy, they're awfully depressing, aren't they? But when I was 14, I didn't think that, I mean, I knew that they were sad, but to me they were soaring and glorious. Joyful in depression, if that makes sense, with such a love of words and turns of phrase that she made me want to write.

Also, because I used to write alot of rhyming poetry, I felt a kinship. Rhyming poetry, just like Dorothy did!

I think this one was my first favourite:

The Trifler

Death's the lover that I'd be taking;
Wild and fickle and fierce is he.
Small's his care if my heart be breaking-
Gay young Death would have none of me.

Hear them clack of my haste to greet him!
No one other my mouth had kissed.
I had dressed me in silk to meet him-
False young Death would not hold the tryst.

Slow's the blood that was quick and stormy,
Smooth and cold is the bridal bed;
I must wait till he whistles for me-
Proud young Death would not turn his head.

I must wait till my breast is wilted.
I must wait till my back is bowed,
I must rock in the corner, jilted-
Death went galloping down the road.

Gone's my heart with a trifling rover.
Fine he was in the game he played-
Kissed, and promised, and threw me over,
And rode away with a prettier maid.

Today's horoscope:
Movement is essential today. Try not to get stuck in one place or doing repetitive tasks. Look for ways to get out and get around.

One year ago today:
"I'm young, dumb and full of cum!"

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Jeweled fantasy by:
Jane Doe!

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Last Updated Sat 1 April 10:21:09 2000