An ode to the unflinching comfort of the bed, our most reliable sanctuary of safety.
Celebrated writer, humorist, poet, dramatist, and literary critic Dorothy Parker (August 22, 1893–June 7, 1967) was in many ways the sad clown of literature — she survived an unhappy childhood, three troubled marriages (two of them to the same person, who eventually committed suicide by drug overdose), her own suicide attempts, and being blacklisted by the FBI with a 1,000-page dossier. And still she rose to the top of the literary elite, lining her formidable literary talents with unrelenting self-deprecation and transcended the tragedies of her life with her signature sharp wit. But nowhere did her singular blend of wit and wistfulness pierce with greater precision than in her poetry. In this rare 1926 recording, 33-year-old Parker reads her poem “Inscription for the Ceiling of a Bedroom” — an ode to the unflinching comfort of the bed, our most reliable sanctuary of safety — found in her 1936 collection Not So Deep As A Well (public library).
Daily dawns another day;
I must up, to make my way.
Though I dress and drink and eat,
Move my fingers and my feet,
Learn a little, here and there,
Weep and laugh and sweat and swear,
Hear a song, or watch a stage,
Leave some words upon a page,
Claim a foe, or hail a friend —
Bed awaits me at the end.
Though I go in pride and strength,
I’ll come back to bed at length.
Though I walk in blinded woe,
Back to bed I’m bound to go.
High my heart, or bowed my head,
All my days but lead to bed.
Up, and out, and on; and then
Ever back to bed again,
Summer, Winter, Spring, and Fall —
I’m a fool to rise at all!
Pair with — what else? — Sylvia Plath’s The Bed Book, illustrated by the great Sir Quentin Blake.