Dr. Levy

I sat on the curbstone, my face in my hands.
Dun buildings surrounded me. The glossy blue loft
Cold and star-pointing arena of desolation
Augmented my stage, whose rich experience begins
To unfold more strangers, events still more ambiguous.

Ah, how my clownish aspect soothed me then!
Crumpled up, knees akimbo, cheek upon one knee,
How fit this was to bring the sour-sweet tears
Again and again!

not that I failed

To tuck up my overcoat collar, for the dim wind
Grew into huffing sound and chilled.

Then, as I sat there, I heard his footsteps' approach
And stop. But I did not look up,
But he touched my shoulder gently, and I turned and saw him
In evening clothes, as suave and foreign in seeming
As a magician or an undertaker
Or a master of ceremonies. Then he said,
"Perhaps I can help you", and tipped his top hat,
Which pleased me greatly, for such dignity
Touched my wound and matched my self-regard.

"Go away", I said, "Please go away", like the child
Unwilling to part with his sulk and its sweet attention,
And I dried my eyes with dainty and delicate dabs,
Snuffled, pouted, rested my chin on my knee.
"Can't you see that I want to be left alone?"
(For the druggist's anger still offended me),

Dr. Levy

2

"Nothing is wrong and I don't need anyone's help;"
"You would not be here, in tears, on the curbstone,
If all were well". (His diction impressed me
Very much.) "Are you a foreigner?", I asked,
Momently abstracted to this.

"I am a doctor,
And my name is Levy. But in more ways, perhaps,
I can help you, young boy. And he lifted me up
And he dried my tears with his handkerchief
Which gushed still more because he did this, touching
My plight with his pity, renewing my pity.

Yes, and the silk of his handkerchief increased
The kindness. We who are sensible animals
Laugh and cry over such materials.

He helped me up, he lifted me up. Self-conscious,
My motions jerked. He straightened my overcoat,
Tugged at its collar and dusted me off, each blow of his hand
Striking reverberated gratitude.

"Come", he said,
"Whatever is wrong, there is nothing to be gained
By this sobbing. Let us go and let us get
Something to eat. That will be good for you."
"Dr. Levy", I said, enjoying his title,
"Will you too tell me that nothing is wrong,
Not crediting my word?"

"No, I know very well
That that would be worse. I know
How much can be wrong. But tell me what troubles you."
Then I told him, as we walked to the lunchroom,
And he shook his head and sighed and then he said:

Dr. Levy

3

"So young to be overtaken by the bad dream,
Your clouded head so soft and so willing
To accept the cinema of the heart and reject
The south of sleep and the forgetful games.
The necessitous meeting made more cruel
By the sad druggist who lost long ago."

This soothed me, though scarcely understood.

"What is your name?" I told him. "Joseph", he said,
"You must not be given to tears and you must not
Turn away your face from all that confronts you.
You must not, if you hope to find your brother."

"How can I help but cry? How can I help it,
Having to seek my brother among six million."

"I will help you to look for your brother", he said,
"I will go with you and show you what I know,
And what you do not know and what I do not know,
For all this may help you. But I do not say,
I know where he is, and I cannot be sure
That we will find him."

"Dr. Levy", I said,
And I burst into boiling tears, as I said this,
"You are very generous, unlike the sad druggist."

He took my arm, as if to reprove my tears,
And he had already taken my hope,
Dimmed my fear and comforted me,
With his sorrowing Jewish eyes, his handsome face,
And the urgent tenderness of his voice.

On backless stools, at the all-night lunchroom,

Dr.Levy

4

Amid the clattered dishes, our arms on the grease-stained counter,
Confronted by the nickel coffee urn, I ate and he on whom
I depended watched me, eating nothing himself,
Intent upon me. I ate great gobs
Of my sandwich, choking nascent sobs,
Embarassed by his gaze as I chewed. The counter man
Was thumbing his tabloid.

"I will have to speak
At times as if in riddles or foreign languages,
For the actual is difficult as if Latinity
Billed the vivid street with advertising posters,
And the Father of Lights were Roman."

"I do not understand what you have just said",
And I quailed, knowing again the weakness
Which faltered and hurt and brought me to error.
I pushed away the fat coffee cup,
Unable to eat.

"That is what I mean to say,
That you will not always understand me,
Immediately, but only after a time.

But finish your food now, now more than ever
You need to be well-fed." And he made me finish
And he paid, the bills in his wallet assuring me,
And we issued into the anonymous night once more,
Its chill and gloom unlessened.

"Dr. Levy", I said, as we walked on,
"How can I really thank you?", and I held him
By his coat sleeve, then suddenly, taken by feeling,
Knelt before him. "So, I thank you,