Two Exciting Hyam Plutzik Centennial Events in April!

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We’re sharing two great events this month that bring the formal part of the HP Centennial to a close. It’s been an incredible two years (2011-12, 2012-13)!

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Hyam Plutzik (Trinity ’32)– Connecticut and Beyond – an Exhibition and Reading

Opening April 9, 2013 through May 31, 2013

First in Connecticut at Trinity College, an incredible reading and exhibition, done by the Watkinson Library (Richard Ring) in tandem with the Rush Rhees Library Department of Rare Books (Phyllis Andrews), and our very own Edward Moran (literary advisor to the Centennial and Hyam Plutzik Scholar). Guest readers included the poet laureate of Connecticut, Dick Allen. See blog entry below borrowed from Richard Ring’s Blog – at the Watkinson.

Check out the link here to a listening station created for this event, that features Hyam Plutzik reading his own poem, as well as a reading by Poet James Longenbach (Trininty ’1981′). You’ll also hear a musical setting of HP’s Sprig of Lilac with music by Robert Cohen: http://jvillafont.wix.com/hyamplutzikpoetry

Hyam Plutzik’s Horatio – at the Helen Mills Theater in New York City 

Featuring Nigel Maister - April 18, 2013

Hyam Plutzik, American Poet: The Making of a Remarkable Course

This spring, Sidney Shapiro, a professor emeritus of electrical engineering at the University of Rochester, taught a course on the life and poetry of Hyam Plutzik in Rochester, New York. In the essay abbreviated below, he shares some of the insights and stories that arose from the experience. Click here for the full text of Mr. Shapiro’s essay.

For ten weeks, from the first week of April through the first week of June 2012, I had the privilege of leading a course at the Osher Lifelong Learning Institute (OLLI) at Rochester Institute of Technology (RIT) that featured the poetry of Hyam Plutzik. This was my contribution to the Plutzik 50/100 Centennial celebration. Here is the story of that course. How class members, a number of them poets with several volumes of poetry to their credit, reacted to being made aware of the person and poetry of Hyam Plutzik. How one of the class members shared with us the Hyam Plutzik he knew as his professor and the influence that experience had in his becoming himself. How, astonishingly, our attention to just one of his poems led to its identification as a novel form invented by Hyam. How the study of his war poetry shed light on the contrast between his experiences of World War II and those of Anthony Hecht, who also became the Deane Professor of Poetry and Rhetoric at the University of Rochester (UR). And how this writer, a former physicist, ended up leading poetry courses at OLLI and the cascade of events over more than twenty years that culminated in this unique course.

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Having spent the bulk of our time on the substance of [“The King of Ai”], I found it necessary to comment on its unusual form, since no one seemed to see it until I pointed it out. The poem is formed in ten couplets with the end words of the first couplet, “eventide” and “city,” repeated in reverse order in the second couplet. The alternation of these two end words continues throughout the remaining couplets.

Now David Hill, a retired Professor of English whose specialty was the intricacy of language, decided to follow up on the form of this poem. He contacted a friend, Lewis Turco, who is noted for his poetry but especially for The Book of Forms: A Handbook of Poetics, which has seen several updates and revisions since its original publication in 1968. Turco was fascinated by the poem and asserted it was a novel form invented by Hyam Plutzik. He intends to include it in the next edition of his Book of Forms.

But the story gets even more astonishing. Just a few days later, David Hill told me that Turco had used this new-to-him form in a poem about his father, a poem he had been contemplating for a long time until the stimulus of “The King of Ai” and its novel form provided the push he needed to write it.

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The last few classes were devoted to the war poems of Hyam Plutzik and of Anthony Hecht. Here were contrasted the differing experiences of war that each poet endured and the different poetic expression of these experiences. Whereas Plutzik enlisted in the Army in 1943 when he was thirty two, ultimately becoming an officer in the Air Force, Hecht was drafted before completing his undergraduate degree. He was placed in the ASTP—Army Specialized Training Program. Those selected for ASTP were assigned to one of the more than two hundred participating universities where they took courses designed to train them to serve in Army Intelligence or other specialized units. They received college credit for these courses and Hecht completed his degree with these transferred credits. But suddenly the Program was terminated and all of the two hundred thousand or so participants were assigned to infantry combat units.

A class member, Bob Nolan, spoke up when I referred to Hecht’s experience in ASTP and told us all that he too had been drafted out of college and assigned to the ASTP unit at Princeton. The credits from Princeton were enough to complete his UR degree. But he too found himself in the infantry and in combat when ASTP was terminated. Just as Hyam Plutzik and Anthony Hecht found in poetry the way to capture the effect of World War II on them, so did Bob Nolan who later shared with us some of his war poems. Hecht’s “A Friend Killed in the War,” which describes the death of a comrade in combat,

And his flesh opened like a peony,
Red at the heart, white petals furling out.

is echoed in Nolan’s “The Orchard”:

The back of the man ahead blossoms
With a quivering mass of tendrils
Ruby red against the olive drab

Here was yet another extraordinary coincidence in this course, and one that had each of us in our own particular way feeling the emotion of the combat experience from which we were personally spared.

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The course was a remarkable experience for me and for the class members. For me there was the wonder, the excitement and the joy in being the transmitter of Hyam Plutzik’s poetry to such a receptive group. The impact on the class members was well put by one of the well-published poets in the class when she said how marvelous it was to become aware of and to study the work of such a truly remarkable poet. I hope the reader of these words comes to feel just how remarkable this course was, a fitting contribution to the Plutzik 50/100.

Sidney Shapiro
June 2012

Click here to read the entire essay.

“A Marvelous Lesson”

Among the full house at Nigel Maister’s reading of Horatio last Monday evening was Al Kremer, a gentleman who introduced himself to me as a former student of Hyam Plutzik. I asked him to write us, to share a memory of Plutzik as a teacher; here is his letter.

I thank you for the opportunity to tell you about being Mr. Plutzik’s student and hearing him read Horatio. I can hear him now:

I come from the court. I am Horatio
Who——”

“A pleasant lie! I know you. You’re a scholar
Going to study Pluto and Harris Tuttle…”
[from "The Ostler"]

I roared with laughter. He didn’t stop but before he went on I think his eyes caught mine nodding approvingly. Or at least that is what I like to think. I can’t be sure because it was a long time ago; the fall term 1960. He was teaching Modern Poetry. I now realize that I was probably in the last or second last course he would ever teach.

Horatio hadn’t yet been published; he was reading it from his manuscript. I had never heard a poet read his poetry before. It was unforgettable and I was utterly blown away. As I write I can still literally see him as he read from “The Ostler.” He had repeatedly said, and rightly so, poetry was a form of music and only truly appreciated when read out loud.

I was 21. After a break I had returned to the U of R to get my undergraduate degree after several years of Army service. I had gotten out of the Army one heartbeat before the Vietnam War began in full. My fellow officers who had remained in the service were being sent there as “advisors.” I knew because there were so few of them that during this same fall semester when they fell, their deaths would be reported in the New York Times. Had I stayed in…

I had wondered why I had left the U of R, why I had come back, and what life was all about. Looking back, although I didn’t realize it then, and wouldn’t do so for many years, Horatio was more than the tale of a friend trying to set his late friend’s reputation straight and tell the world who he really was. Horatio was about the essence of living life, positively. As I listened it seemed that Mr. Plutzik was saying that the point wasn’t whether Horatio would ever be able to persuade anyone that they were wrong about Hamlet, but that Hamlet had been his friend and he would keep trying. Life was about friendship, commitment, learning to keep an open mind, having ideals and speaking out for what is right. Writing poetry is about civilization and art and not about war.

What a marvelous lesson for a 21 year old kid. I have never forgotten him.

Bard Nigel Maister is to be thanked. I am extremely grateful that he sang for us. As I told him after his reading, he worked magic freeing Horatio from the pages of the book, bringing him into the Welles-Brown Room.

Al Kremer

We welcome memories of Plutzik or commentaries on his work, which can be submitted by email. Please note that pieces may be edited before posting.–P.W.

Former student of Hyam Plutzik remembers his teaching

This piece was written by Arnulf Zweig, a member of the U of R class of 1952, and appears as part of the Meliora Moments project from the University of Rochester. Zweig is a philosopher and has held teaching positions at Baruch College of CUNY, the University of Oregon, and M.I.T., among others.

It’s amazing to me how vivid my memories are of Professor Hyam Plutzik (of the English Department), even at 81. When I think about a particularly significant moment of personal growth during my years at Rochester, what comes immediately to mind is not a lecture or class but Plutzik’s review of the student literary magazine in which I had published a story and some poems. I was a philosophy major but, like most of my friends, I had literary aspirations—“pretensions” would be a better word. And that is what Plutzik recognized. I can still recall his exact words in that review: “Mr. Zweig must take care to avoid the least suggestion of pretentiousness in his work.” Deflationary, when I was dying for praise. Oh, there were some favorable comments as well, a concession that my story (it was called “You Can Stop Crying Now,” a title taken from a poem by Kenneth Patchen) “managed to win a certain victory in the end.” But what counted for me was Plutzik’s seeing my flaws as a writer, my temptation to mimic the language and diction of others. Plutzik set me straight. His honest, accurate criticism taught me more, as a future teacher and scholar, than any applause would have done.

The page on which his review was printed has long disintegrated (along with my undergraduate scribbling) but I thank him still for helping me to see where my talents did not lie, and for showing me how to tell students I have myself had to review that they must find their own voice.

Arnulf Zweig