MB 8/13/07, guest ed

Dear All,

It is mid-August and the heat index has soared past 110 this weekend
in my part of the woods. It is hot and humid and I am grumpy. Why does
weather effective us some much? Wouldn’t it be great to know what the
temperature was when a poem was written?

I wonder if it was a humid New York day in August when Dorothy Parker
wrote “Symptom Recital?”

Parker put it out there with verse that was often terse and quick. A
thought was conveyed and then she moved on to something else–possibly
a drink at the Algonquin? Let’s all make a toast to the end of
summer…and good drinks consumed at round tables!

-Sara

Symptom Recital

I do not like my state of mind;
I’m bitter, querulous, unkind.
I hate my legs, I hate my hands,
I do not yearn for lovelier lands.
I dread the dawn’s recurrent light;
I hate to go to bed at night.
I snoot at simple, earnest folk.
I cannot take the simplest joke.
I find no peace in paint or type.
My world is but a lot of tripe.
I’m disillusioned, empty-breasted.
For what I think, I’d be arrested.
I am not sick. I am not well.
My quondam dreams are shot to hell.
My soul is crushed, my spirit sore:
I do not like me any more.
I cavil, quarrel, grumble, grouse.
I ponder on the narrow house.
I shudder at the thought of men.
I’m due to fall in love again.

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