Marlene Dietrich

It was Marlene Dietrich's birthday on the 27th, so a belated birthday post it is...






Below are some of her poems, found in an old suitcase by her only child, Maria Riva. The poems, some scribbled, others typed on playwright Noël Coward’s typewriter, were written after Dietrich retired from the public eye. Riva claims to have edited them in hopes of publishing them to illustrate that her mother did not retreat from the public gaze because of vanity, as some biographers have claimed. Riva said, "My mother withdrew because she was simply tired of being Marlene Dietrich. She was tired of the endless effort to present an ideal of perfection even though she was not perfect."

However, the poems as of yet have not been published -- and believe-you-me, I've been watching and waiting!

Here are a few of the poems, which strike melancholy, if not romantic, notes. And, interestingly, none of them -- or at least none of the released poems -- are to women... I would have expected something to or for Mercedes de Acosta, at least.

To Ronald Reagan:

A tense silence
Grips me Surrounds me
Grounds me to the
Messy floor Around me

No voice No wind No rain Just silence will remain
Around me What a fate
‘Too late cried the Raven, Too late'

To Orson Welles:

Even when you are dead
You are not safe,
Not out of reach.

To Noël Coward:

No more Body
To hold on to
While you Sleep
Just the Sheet. What a cheat!

To Ernest Hemingway:

Losing you
Feels like A fisherman feels
Who loses his catch He thought he had
So securely
Hooked
While piercing
The gills of his prey.

Poems & info on them via The London Times.

Related: Medal of Freedom Recipient Marlene Dietrich