Category Archives: Memories of Hyam Plutzik

“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