Analysis of "A Certain Lady"

The speaker in this poem is a lady who reflects on how she interacts with a man she loves. She puts on a gay pretense to make the man feel that she loves and eats up every word he says. She acts physically flirtatious (lines 4, 22), uses her body language to please and entice him with looks and smiles (1-3, 6, 13), and she laughs and "marvels rapturous eyed"as he "rehearses his lists of love" and tells "tales of fresh adventurings". The problem is, the whole time he's telling her about his exploits and his experiences with women, which is causing her great pain (8, 11, 23), but she knows her part so well (meaning she's acting, playing a role) that he believes that she is delighted by his stories and continues, oblivious to her pain.

A witty cynicism towards romance emanates from the hardened, world weary speaker that is characteristic to a lot of Dorothy Parker's works. The speaker herself is clever, well practiced in her ruse, and quite wry and sarcastic in the way she deals with the man. She has knowledge that reveals the weaknesses of the man, and she decieves and has some control over him through her behavior, but she can't make him do what she really wants, which is to stop adventuring with young ladies, understand her pain and feelings, and love her.

"A Certain Lady" by Dorothy Parker

Dorothy Parker

A Certain Lady

Oh, I can smile for you, and tilt my head,
And drink your rushing words with eager lips,
And paint my mouth for you a fragrant red,
And trace your brows with tutored finger-tips.
When you rehearse your list of loves to me,
Oh, I can laugh and marvel, rapturous-eyed.
And you laugh back, nor can you ever see
The thousand little deaths my heart has died.
And you believe, so well I know my part,
That I am gay as morning, light as snow,
And all the straining things within my heart
You’ll never know.

Oh, I can laugh and listen, when we meet,
And you bring tales of fresh adventurings,—
Of ladies delicately indiscreet,
Of lingering hands, and gently whispered things.
And you are pleased with me, and strive anew
To sing me sagas of your late delights.
Thus do you want me——marveling, gay, and true,
Nor do you see my staring eyes of nights.
And when, in search of novelty, you stray,
Oh, I can kiss you blithely as you go ….
And what goes on, my love, while you’re away,
You’ll never know.

My Response/Analysis of "London"

Immediately you pick up on the repetition of the word "chartered" in lines 1 and 2, which instantly denote an emphasis on privelege, and the English "establishment". But in the third line says "every face" which changes the focus from the priveleged or extraordinary, to common and ordinary, especially as the fourth line speaks of "weakness" and "woe". Weakness and woe is a characteristic of struggles of the common man, not the "chartered", or those granted special favor or honor by the government. These two pairs of lines bring together the contrasting aspects of London, and set a critical tone, ensuring that the next stanzas will show how London's weak and weary go unassisted, though they live near wealth in the Church and in the Palace.

And indeed, cries from the helpless and underprivileged (i.e. babies, chimney sweeps, soldiers) "appall" the Church, which is "blackening" from the evil of turning a blind eye, and marrs the Palace walls, or the image of London's wealthy institution, as much as bloos running down its walls. And the last stanza describes how the pains and horrors that are found in the streets of London "blights wiht plagues the Marriage hearse". Here, the marriage hearse is supposed to represent both the Church and secualar establishments, and the hearse can only be afforded by the priveleged, so it is symbolic of everything the wretches of London cry out against. And the tone mocks these "institutions" for being stained and "bothered" by these, but turning away anyway, so they won't have to help.

Tone- Norton Poem

William Blake

London

I wander through each chartered street,
Near where the chartered Thames does flow,
And mark in every face I meet,
Marks of weakness, marks of woe.

In every cry of every man,
In every infant's cry of fear,
In every voice, in every ban,
The mind-forged manacles I hear:

How the chimney-sweeper's cry
Every blackening Church appals;
And the hapless soldier's sigh
Runs in blood down palace-walls.

But most through midnight streets I hear
How the youthful harlot's curse
Blasts the new-born infant's tear,
And blights with plagues the marriage-hearse.