Death and Taxes

A quick observation on weeding:
Weeding is when you pull items which are undesirable or harmful in order to enhance the overall health and appearance of the whole, whether that be a garden or a collection of books.
When lots of weeding is going on, it may just be because there are a lot of weeds that need to be pulled.

That said, I've asked my branch manager to look for a modern reprint for the yellowed and faded volume of Dorothy Parker's Death and Taxes, third printing, 1931. It would be wonderful if we could introduce her to a new generation, and while her books have a certain dainty appeal, I'm not sure that patrons would be knocking down the shelves to pick her up like they would if she were in a slick bound penguin classics version with a stunning visual on the front page. And even if they were to, I'm not sure the book would survive their enthusiasm.

Parker, who once said of her contemporary, Katherine Hepburn, that the actress's talent ran the range of emotion from A to B, is a sassy and surprising voice from her era, one I'm thrilled to have discovered right here on our shelves.

Sometimes a poet is discovered because the verse speaks at just the right moment. Sometimes its just more of a universal song to which we all seem to know the beat. I'm not sure which category she belongs in, but I find the tenderness and gentle pain in her writing rings very close to home.

A few samples:

Sanctuary
My land is bare of chattering folk;
The clouds are low along the ridges,
And sweet's the air with curly smoke
From all my burning bridges.

Midnight
The stars are soft as flowers, and as near;
The hills are webs of shadow, slowly spun;
No separate leaf or single blade is here--
All blend to one.

No moonbeam cuts the air; a sapphire light
Rolls lazily, and slips again to rest.
There is no edged thing in all this night,
Save in my breast.

(from) Tombstones In The Starlight
IV. The Fisherwoman
The man she had was kind and clean
And well enough for every day,
But, oh, dear friends, you should have seen
The one that got away!

VI. The Actress
Her name, cut clear upon this marble cross,
Shines, as it shone when she was still on earth;
While tenderly the mild, agreeable moss
Obscures the figures of her date of birth.