The Wild Party
Joseph Moncure, writing like the love child of P.G. Wodehouse and Dorothy Parker, once penned a fabulous ode to Jazz Age debauchery. And it captured my heart. There's a sly grittiness to this tale, as well as satire, with content explicit enough to get it banned in Boston when it first appeared in 1928.
Her body was marvellous:
A miracle had fused it:
The whole world had seen it-
And a good part had used it.
People bought their seats in advance
For fifteen dollars,
Glad of the chance
To see her dance.
Women adored her.
Less often, a man:
And the more fool he-
She was Lesbian.
People of all sexual persuasions live it up at The Wild Party. There are bounders, rapists, jealous lovers, ne'er-do-wells and even (*gasp*) musicians. See for yourself when you click the link. But once you've read all of this epic (and I do mean epic) poem, you'll have to come back here and go behind the cut. Because whoever entered it left out the very important ending! So it's up to me to transcribe the rest from my 1994 edition, illustrated by Art Spiegleman. One of my more cherished used bookstore finds.
With his head hanging across Kate's knee,
Lay Burrs. He slept uneasily.
From time to time his body twitched
As though it itched.
Sleeping on her back just next to them,
Lay a girl like a flower with a broken stem.
Her knees stood in the air.
From hip to knee, her legs were bare.
Her head rested in a pool of fair
Rippling hair.
Suddenly, she sighed;
Rolled over.
She clung to Burrs like a long-lost lover.
Burrs stirred; his legs shifted.
He moaned:
He groaned:
His head lifted.
He pushed the girl aside,
And sat up, crimson-eyed.
The room rocked.
Hammers knocked
Inside his skull.
It threatened to split.
None of his clothes seemed to fit.
His mouth and throat were foul cotton.
God, he felt rotten!
He writhed out to the edge of the bed
And sat there hunched;
Clutching his head.
But not for long.
Something was wrong!
Suddenly he had a thought.
His head lifted:
He grew taut.
He peered over at the corner chair,
Looking for knees, and blurred gold hair.
They were not there!
His throat grew tight:
His face turned white.
His eyes narrowed,
Vicious:
Suspicious.
Not so good!
He rose; he stood
Up aching.
Shaking.
He staggered to the corner,
Gripped the chair,
And peered behind it.
They ere not there!
Two empty glasses,
Two pillows pressed flat,
Showed where Queenie and Black had sat.
A litter of ashes lay around them.
So this was the game!
God!
Wait till he found them!
He clamped his teeth together
And ground them.
His back straightened: he snarled: he wheeled.
Around and around the room he reeled;
Stooping; peering at white faces
That lay turned up in shadowy places.
Swifter and swifter he went;
Sinister: silent: intent.
At last he straightened.
He swore,
Baffled; whiter than before.
They were not there!
Then, where?
He went to the table to get a drink.
He msut think!
He stared at the drink:
He stared at the floor:
He stared dully at the bedroom door
With eyes wide,
Blank.
His eyes swerved down:
He drank.
Then something moved in his brain.
His eyes shot up again,
And stared gleaming at the bedroom door
As though he had never seen it before.
Each eye suddenly narrowed to a slit:
His heart jumped.
So that was it!
He shook and his ears rang.
He put down his glass with a bang.
His face was as white as though acid had bleached it.
Slowly he stepped towards the door"
Reached it:
Turned the knob:
Thrust the door wide"
Stood on the threshold,
And peered inside.
Dim light from the door.
Streamed over the bed.
He saw locked figures,
And a golden head.
He felt sick.
His breath came quick.
The door shut behind him with a soft click.
Silence.
The pair on the bed
Sat up:
"Who's there?" Queenie said.
A black shape stirred near the door.
"Who's that?" sharper than before.
"Who the hell do you think?--
You whore!"
Silence.
Then, sharp; clear:
"Burrs---get out! Do you hear!"
"Get out like hell!"
His choking laugh:
"I'll break your god-dammned neck in half,
You dirty bitch!"
His voice grew shrill.
Came Black's retort:
"The hell you will!"
Black rose:
The shadow sprang from the door.
Black struck:
Burrs reeled;
He crashed to the floor.
One hand reached slowly up to seize
The bureu's edge.
He got to his knees.
'Get up!" snarled Black
With his fist drawn back:
"I'll teach you to call that girl a whore!"
Silence.
In the darkness, a bureau drawer
Rattled:
Thumped.
Burrs thrust a hand in.
Up he jumped.
Something in his hand made a dull gleam.
"Look out!" shot Queenie's warning scream:
"Look out!---He's got a gun!
Look out!---"
Black made from him with a shout.
The gun roared----
But he missed.
Black caught him by the wrist.
He wrenched till the bones began to crack.
The gun dropped.
Black snatched it:
Stood up:
Lurched back.
The gun flashed---
Crashed!
Staccato,
and vicious it spoke.
Silence.
Darkness.
The air smelled
sharp with smoke.
Burrs stood stock still.
He whimpered faintly.
He cocked his head to one side,
Quaintly.
Suddenly he staggered,
Fell on the bed.
He groaned.
An arm rose---
Dropped.
He was dead.
"Burrs!" snapped Queenie,
Curt:
"Burrs!---Are you hurt?"
She leaned over;
Shook him;
Shrank back.
Her jaw dropped;
she stared up at Black.
Then:
"Christ!---You've killed him!
Look what you've done!
Beat it, you fool!
Don't stand there----
Run!
If they get you
You'll get the chair!
Run!
Get out!
Take the gun:
Don't let them catch you with it!
Run!
D'ye hear?
Run!"
"Kiss me before I go!" he said.
Her hands flew up; beat at her head;
"God, what a fool!
You make me sick!"
"Kiss me!"
"All right then---
Come on!---
Quick!
For a moment, their lips met:
Cold; salty with sweat.
Feet trampled in the hall outside.
"What's that!" gasped Queenie,
Terrified.
He let go:
Turned:
Lurched towards the door
Through darkness, over a swaying floor.
A crash!---
The chair:
He almost fell.
"Chris'!" he mumbled:
"what th' hell---?
Jes's Christ!---
I've hurt my shin:---"
The door sprang open
And the cops rushed in.
Her body was marvellous:
A miracle had fused it:
The whole world had seen it-
And a good part had used it.
People bought their seats in advance
For fifteen dollars,
Glad of the chance
To see her dance.
Women adored her.
Less often, a man:
And the more fool he-
She was Lesbian.
People of all sexual persuasions live it up at The Wild Party. There are bounders, rapists, jealous lovers, ne'er-do-wells and even (*gasp*) musicians. See for yourself when you click the link. But once you've read all of this epic (and I do mean epic) poem, you'll have to come back here and go behind the cut. Because whoever entered it left out the very important ending! So it's up to me to transcribe the rest from my 1994 edition, illustrated by Art Spiegleman. One of my more cherished used bookstore finds.
With his head hanging across Kate's knee,
Lay Burrs. He slept uneasily.
From time to time his body twitched
As though it itched.
Sleeping on her back just next to them,
Lay a girl like a flower with a broken stem.
Her knees stood in the air.
From hip to knee, her legs were bare.
Her head rested in a pool of fair
Rippling hair.
Suddenly, she sighed;
Rolled over.
She clung to Burrs like a long-lost lover.
Burrs stirred; his legs shifted.
He moaned:
He groaned:
His head lifted.
He pushed the girl aside,
And sat up, crimson-eyed.
The room rocked.
Hammers knocked
Inside his skull.
It threatened to split.
None of his clothes seemed to fit.
His mouth and throat were foul cotton.
God, he felt rotten!
He writhed out to the edge of the bed
And sat there hunched;
Clutching his head.
But not for long.
Something was wrong!
Suddenly he had a thought.
His head lifted:
He grew taut.
He peered over at the corner chair,
Looking for knees, and blurred gold hair.
They were not there!
His throat grew tight:
His face turned white.
His eyes narrowed,
Vicious:
Suspicious.
Not so good!
He rose; he stood
Up aching.
Shaking.
He staggered to the corner,
Gripped the chair,
And peered behind it.
They ere not there!
Two empty glasses,
Two pillows pressed flat,
Showed where Queenie and Black had sat.
A litter of ashes lay around them.
So this was the game!
God!
Wait till he found them!
He clamped his teeth together
And ground them.
His back straightened: he snarled: he wheeled.
Around and around the room he reeled;
Stooping; peering at white faces
That lay turned up in shadowy places.
Swifter and swifter he went;
Sinister: silent: intent.
At last he straightened.
He swore,
Baffled; whiter than before.
They were not there!
Then, where?
He went to the table to get a drink.
He msut think!
He stared at the drink:
He stared at the floor:
He stared dully at the bedroom door
With eyes wide,
Blank.
His eyes swerved down:
He drank.
Then something moved in his brain.
His eyes shot up again,
And stared gleaming at the bedroom door
As though he had never seen it before.
Each eye suddenly narrowed to a slit:
His heart jumped.
So that was it!
He shook and his ears rang.
He put down his glass with a bang.
His face was as white as though acid had bleached it.
Slowly he stepped towards the door"
Reached it:
Turned the knob:
Thrust the door wide"
Stood on the threshold,
And peered inside.
Dim light from the door.
Streamed over the bed.
He saw locked figures,
And a golden head.
He felt sick.
His breath came quick.
The door shut behind him with a soft click.
Silence.
The pair on the bed
Sat up:
"Who's there?" Queenie said.
A black shape stirred near the door.
"Who's that?" sharper than before.
"Who the hell do you think?--
You whore!"
Silence.
Then, sharp; clear:
"Burrs---get out! Do you hear!"
"Get out like hell!"
His choking laugh:
"I'll break your god-dammned neck in half,
You dirty bitch!"
His voice grew shrill.
Came Black's retort:
"The hell you will!"
Black rose:
The shadow sprang from the door.
Black struck:
Burrs reeled;
He crashed to the floor.
One hand reached slowly up to seize
The bureu's edge.
He got to his knees.
'Get up!" snarled Black
With his fist drawn back:
"I'll teach you to call that girl a whore!"
Silence.
In the darkness, a bureau drawer
Rattled:
Thumped.
Burrs thrust a hand in.
Up he jumped.
Something in his hand made a dull gleam.
"Look out!" shot Queenie's warning scream:
"Look out!---He's got a gun!
Look out!---"
Black made from him with a shout.
The gun roared----
But he missed.
Black caught him by the wrist.
He wrenched till the bones began to crack.
The gun dropped.
Black snatched it:
Stood up:
Lurched back.
The gun flashed---
Crashed!
Staccato,
and vicious it spoke.
Silence.
Darkness.
The air smelled
sharp with smoke.
Burrs stood stock still.
He whimpered faintly.
He cocked his head to one side,
Quaintly.
Suddenly he staggered,
Fell on the bed.
He groaned.
An arm rose---
Dropped.
He was dead.
"Burrs!" snapped Queenie,
Curt:
"Burrs!---Are you hurt?"
She leaned over;
Shook him;
Shrank back.
Her jaw dropped;
she stared up at Black.
Then:
"Christ!---You've killed him!
Look what you've done!
Beat it, you fool!
Don't stand there----
Run!
If they get you
You'll get the chair!
Run!
Get out!
Take the gun:
Don't let them catch you with it!
Run!
D'ye hear?
Run!"
"Kiss me before I go!" he said.
Her hands flew up; beat at her head;
"God, what a fool!
You make me sick!"
"Kiss me!"
"All right then---
Come on!---
Quick!
For a moment, their lips met:
Cold; salty with sweat.
Feet trampled in the hall outside.
"What's that!" gasped Queenie,
Terrified.
He let go:
Turned:
Lurched towards the door
Through darkness, over a swaying floor.
A crash!---
The chair:
He almost fell.
"Chris'!" he mumbled:
"what th' hell---?
Jes's Christ!---
I've hurt my shin:---"
The door sprang open
And the cops rushed in.