Nash Always Makes Me Smile

My mom's favorite poet is Ogden Nash and so it is no surprise that he was one of the first poets I remember reading (along with Edgar Allen Poe). Sylvia Plath said, "There must be quite a few things that a hot bath won't cure, but I don't know many of them." I think the same is true of poetry. At least for me. So tonight I have been skimming my poetry books and reading Ogden Nash and Dorothy Parker and I had to share.

from Laments for a Dying Language by Odgen Nash
(It seemed to appropriate after my last post.)

V
Coin brassy words at will, debase the coinage;
We're in an if-you-cannot-lick-them-join age,
A slovenliness-provides-its-own-excuse age,
Where usage overnight condones misusage.
Farewell, farewell to my beloved language,
Once English, now a vile orangutanguage.

I love the fact that this next poem is written by a man, about men. Ha!
The Trouble with Women is Men

A husband is a man who two minutes after his head touches the pillow is snoring like an overloaded omnibus,
Particularly on those occasions when between the humidity and the mosquitoes your own bed is no longer a bed but an insomnibus,
And if you turn on the light for a little reading he is sensitive to the faintest gleam,
But if by chance you are asleep and he wakeful, he is not slow to rouse you with the complaint that he can't close his eyes, what about slipping downstairs and freezing him a cooling dish of pistachio ice cream.
His touch with a bottle opener is sure,
But he cannot help you get a tight dress over your head without catching three hooks and a button in your coiffure.
Nor can he so much as wash his ears without leaving an inch of water on the bathroom linoleum,
But if you mention it you evoke not a promise to splash no more but a mood of deep melancholium.
Indeed, each time he transgresses your chance of correcting his faults grows lesser,
Because he produces either a maddeningly logical explanation or a look of martyrdom which leaves you instead of him feeling the remorse of the transgressor.
Such are husbandly foibles, but there are moments when a foible ceases to be a foible.
Next time you ask for a glass of water and when he brings it you have a needle almost threaded and instead of setting it down he stands there holding it out to you, just kick him fairly hard in the stomach, you will find it thoroughly enjoible.

And I'll go out with one of my favorite Dorothy Parker verses:
Resume

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.

I'd always pondered the meaning of the title. I've now decided that it's because after nine months of sending out resumes to everyone and anyone, one has to be reminded of why not to commit suicide.