A foot meets the payment for a moment,
The remains of a lowly earthworm
Whose life was terminated
In the creation of a footprint
Dries up slowly.
At its journey's end a foot dries up
Slowly in a coffin only to be
Transformed into soil by a
Vancouver Early 70’s
Remember the times of the past,
But bring forth finer times of the future,
And think not of what we are missing,
But what we are gaining...
Written for her school friends Geraldine and Cheryl. Late '70s
To catch up with time,
But, when out of breath,
Time still races on
There is no need to race,
But time to rest,
And let time's silly game
Be played by someone else.
As you lie sleeping
So innocent and content,
The world around you doesn't stop,
But keeps turning, and time doesn't wait,
And has no mercy...
And as you lie sleeping,
Another, at the same moment, is crying,
And still another is laughing:
Time has no pattern.
Some are worried and try
To save time for a later date,
But then realize time cannot be saved,
And all the while they are living
They are also dying...
The dissolution of a raindrop evolves
Into the creation of a rainbow -
The mystery of nature:
A seed giving birth to life,
A word giving birth to love.
... The pictures I see
Are not blue,
Or green or brown,
But a shade
Of which the color
Has not been invented,
And a shape
Which cannot be imagined.
How can people be satisfied
By accepting someone
Without exploring them?
Is the connection
It's here, everything -
Everything anyone ever
Dreamed of, and more.
But love is lost:
The only sacrifice
To live in this heaven,
Where people are the games.
Los Angeles, August 1979. Written after Dorothy's introduction to the Hollywood life.
When storms are past and gone,
Shall gentle love succeed?
I wish to ease a troubled mind -
Sleep is the thing we need.
With these few words I send my love.
You will in this a question find:
My question is without a doubt -
Love is the question - find it out.
For Paul after they had argued.
... The moon encircled
In a misty rainbow -
Those who do not see it
Do not know it is there;
And the answer
For those who do?
For Peter in memory of that night
on December 23, 1979.
Looking at life through a window,
Watching the pain, the forced smiles,
A little bit of laughter...
And life goes on, leaving no time
To get off the world and rest -
Until the very end,
When time means nothing anymore,
Because then you have
All the time in the world,
Forever and ever.
For Peter on Valentines Day 1980
Holding each other, our bodies perspire...
I want to say so many things
That hopefully my eyes portray in silence.
Your hands so slender,
I feel them, as a blind man
Carefully touching every part of me
As if it will be for the last time.
I close my eyes and feel the room
So full of emotion...
And we sleep contentedly
In each other's arms
Knowing the morning will bring
A new day of love.
Left by Peter's bed in the Wyndham Hotel one morning. New York 1980
A tornado of thought sweeping the mind...
Wanting to close your eyes
And open them again to a new beginning,
Or to start again on the right road...
Life is a mysterious path
Which no two travel alike.
And once the chosen path is taken,
There is no turning back.
Yet there is an alternative sometimes,
A crossroad somewhere in between
Which takes you on a different journey...
Will I be happy?
For how long?
I don't know.
Written in May 1980 and shown only to her mother who copied it down for herself. The original is lost.
Alone, just you and I,
Talking softly, laughing -
Each moment bringing us closer.
A soft kiss, a warm embrace, a song,
And then we talk a little more,
And laugh again,
And the moon peeks through an open window.
Then - in what seems only one moment -
The rays of the sun
Are slowly shining brighter.
The evening will be forever -
Yet time was not enough.
Written for Peter during their time together
in New York. June 1980
The bright green blades of grass
Are glistening with dew as the morning sun
Rises up over the hills, and a breeze
Ever so gently flutters them about.
And she stoops to pluck a dandelion
And pauses, shuts her eyes tightly,
Blows hard, and the white fluff
Disperses all around as she makes a wish...
She's thinking but not sure of what.
The day will be beautiful for a while...
Instinct has been allowed to take its course
And proves to be right somehow.
And then she sits:
Her dress encircles her, hides her feet
Save the tips of her white socks and sandals.
The stem of the dandelion has fallen,
Somewhere, it doesn't matter.
No reason for coming really -
Feels much better though:
Hasn't had much time to think.
She sighs and places her hand
On the grass to help her stand;
She looks around and sighs again,
And knows it will still be there.
Written during the last two weeks of filming
They All Laughed. New York 1980
I'm very happy to bring you this collection of Dorothy's own poems. This collection was taken from the book The Killing of the Unicorn written by Peter Bogdanovich.
I have tried when possible to give some dates and a little context for each poem as listed in the book. Some of the poems may have been edited or shortened.
When you see three periods ... this usually means something has been cut out for some reason. I have had to trust the Unicorn book's presentation of the dates and context of the poems. I have listed the poems chronologically so you can watch the development of Dorothy's style and thoughts.
Please enjoy this special look into Dorothy's wonderful heart.
A thought in the night,
Lying awake in wonderment
At the simplicity of happiness,
And the complexities of foresights
Which may never be...
Because the present
Will slip into the past,
And then the future is now...
And the past will never be
Recaptured and spent
The way it should have been.
And the present is spent
By questioning the future.
For Peter on February 16, 1980