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 gentlest 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.
Words in this poem
- querulous a.
- Given to quarreling; quarrelsome. land. [L. querulus and querulosus, fr. queri to complain. Cf. Cry, v., Quarrel a brawl, Quarrelous.]
- unkind a.
- Having no race or kindred; childless. [See Kin kindred.]
- yearn v. t.
- To pain; to grieve; to vex. [Also earn, ern; probably a corruption of OE. ermen to grieve, AS. ierman, yrman, or geierman, geyrman, fr. earm wretched, poor; akin to D. & G. arm, Icel. armr,]
- folk n.
- In Anglo-Saxon times, the people of a group of townships or villages; a community; a tribe. [AS. folc; akin to D. volk, OS. & OHG. folk, G. volk, Icel. f, Sw. & Dan. folk, Lith. pulkas crowd, and perh. to E. follow.]
- quondam a.
- Having been formerly; former; sometime. [L., formerly.]
- grumble v. i.
- To murmur or mutter with discontent; to make ill-natured complaints in a low voice and a surly manner. [Cf. LG. grummeln, grumman, D. grommelen, grommen, and F. grommeler, of German origin; cf. W. grwm, murmur, grumble, surly. sq. root35. Cf. Grum, Grim.]
Definitions and etymologies from Webster's Unabridged Dictionary, 1913.
About this text
Symptom Recital is in the public domain. This text is taken from Enough Rope: Poems, Project Gutenberg ebook #68353; the transcription's header, footer and licence were removed and nothing else was changed. You may copy, print and reuse it freely.
Cite as: Dorothy Parker, Symptom Recital, in Enough Rope (1926), text of Project Gutenberg ebook #68353, Laurel, https://laurelpoetry.com/poem/parker-enough-rope/symptom-recital.html, id L27391.
Form and metre
Symptom Recital is 20 lines in a single stanza. It is in rhyming couplets: octosyllabic couplets. The metre is iambic tetrameter, measured from the stress the words themselves fix (confidence 95%).
See other poems in octosyllabic couplets, other poems in iambic tetrameter.
Measured by Laurel's pipeline, not copied from a handbook: how stress and metre are counted, how rhyme is lettered, how a drifted rhyme is found. Where the dictionary cannot confirm a rhyme the letter is withheld, not guessed.
Rhyme words, stanza by stanza
The word that ends each line, lettered by the rhyme it makes; a dash is a line whose rhyme the dictionary could not confirm.
- 1 AABBCCDDEEFFGGHHIIJJ mindA · unkindA · handsB · landsB · lightC · nightC · folkD · jokeD · typeE · tripeE · breastedF · arrestedF · wellG · hellG · soreH · moreH · grouseI · houseI · menJ · againJ
Scansion, line by line
Each line with its syllable count and the stresses the words themselves fix: / stressed, ˘ unstressed, · a syllable the word leaves free and the metre decides. Read against iambic tetrameter. How this is done.
| Line | Syl. | Stress |
|---|---|---|
| I do not like my state of mind; | 8 | ········ |
| I'm bitter, querulous, unkind. | 8 | ·/˘/˘˘˘/ |
| I hate my legs, I hate my hands, | 8 | ········ |
| I do not yearn for lovelier lands. | 9 | ········· |
| I dread the dawn's recurrent light; | 8 | ····˘/˘· |
| I hate to go to bed at night. | 8 | ········ |
| I snoot at simple, earnest folk. | 8 | ···/˘/˘· |
| I cannot take the gentlest joke. | 8 | ·/˘··/˘· |
| I find no peace in paint or type. | 8 | ········ |
| My world is but a lot of tripe. | 8 | ········ |
| I'm disillusioned, empty-breasted. | 9 | ··˘/˘/˘/˘ |
| For what I think, I'd be arrested. | 9 | ······˘/˘ |
| I am not sick, I am not well. | 8 | ········ |
| My quondam dreams are shot to hell. | 8 | ·/˘····· |
| My soul is crushed, my spirit sore; | 8 | ·····/˘· |
| I do not like me any more. | 8 | ·····/˘· |
| I cavil, quarrel, grumble, grouse. | 8 | ·/˘/˘/˘· |
| I ponder on the narrow house. | 8 | ·/˘··/˘· |
| I shudder at the thought of men.... | 8 | ·/˘····· |
| I'm due to fall in love again. | 8 | ······˘/ |
The reader shows the same poem with its rhymes coloured and a stress row above each line, the notes beside their stanzas, and any word's definition on a tap; the analysis page takes the whole book apart. How every part of this site was made.