July 10th, 2014 -- by Bacchus
Warren G. Harding’s Love Poetry
The New York Times has published excerpts from the salacious letters Warren G. Harding was in the habit of sending to his mistress before he became president. Among the letters was this rather heated poem of love and lust, from 1912:
I love your poise
Of perfect thighs
When they hold me
in paradise . . .I love the rose
Your garden grows
Love seashell pink
That over it glowsI love to suck
Your breath away
I love to cling –
There long to stay . . .I love you garb’d
But naked more
Love your beauty
To thus adore . . .I love you when
You open eyes
And mouth and arms
And cradling thighs . . .
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Aha! After years of patiently lurking in the shadows I can finally roll out one of my favorite H.L. Mencken quotations, in which the Sage of Baltimore describes Harding as a writer. “He writes the worst English that I have ever encountered. It reminds me of a string of wet sponges; it reminds me of tattered washing on the line; it reminds me of stale bean soup, of college yells, of dogs barking idiotically through endless nights. It is so bad that a sort of grandeur creeps into it. It drags itself out of the dark abysm of pish, and crawls insanely up the topmost pinnacle of posh. It is rumble and bumble. It is flap and doodle. It is balder and dash.”
“It drags itself out of the dark abysm of pish…” Paging H.P. Lovecraft…
Faustus, that’s awesome. If H.L. Mencken did not invent the rant, he sure as hell advanced the art immeasurably.
I don’t know which he was worse at, being President or writing poetry…