Collected Prose

himself.
I am afraid
because of the foolishness
I have spoken.
I must diet
on silence;
strengthen myself
with quiet.

    It could not have been an easy life for Reznikoff. Throughout the many years he devoted to writing poetry (his first poems were published in 1918, when he was twenty-four, and he went on publishing until his death in early 1976), he suffered from a neglect so total it was almost scandalous. Forced to bring out most of his books in private editions (many of them printed by himself), he also had to fight the constant pressures of making a living.
After I had worked all day at what I earn my living
I was tired. Now my own work has lost another day,
I thought, but began slowly,
and slowly my strength came back to me.
Surely, the tide comes in twice a day. 

    It was not until he was in his late sixties that Reznikoff began to receive some measure of recognition. New Directions published a book of his selected poems, By The Waters of Manhattan , which was followed a few years later by the first volume of Testimony . But in spite of the success of these two books — and a growing audience for his works — New Directions saw fit to drop Reznikoff from its list of authors. More years passed. Then, in 1974, Black Sparrow Press brought out By The Well of Living & Seeing: New & Selected Poems 1918 –1973 . More importantly, it committed itself to the long overdue project of putting all of Reznikoff’s work back into print. Under the intelligent and sensitive editing of Seamus Cooney, the sequence so far includes the two volumes of Complete Poems, Holocaust, The Manner Music (a posthumous novel), the first two volumes of Testimony , and will go on to include more volumes of Testimony and a book of Collected Plays .
    If Reznikoff lived his life in obscurity, there was never the slightest trace of resentment in his work. He was too proud for that, too busy with the work itself to be overly concerned with its fate in the world. Even if people are slow to listen to someone who speaks quietly, he knew that eventually he would be heard.
Te Deum

Not because of victories
I sing,
having none,
but for the common sunshine,
the breeze,
the largess of the spring.
Not for victory
but for the day’s work done
as well as I was able;
not for a seat upon the dais
but at the common table.

    1974; 1976; 1978
    2. “ IT REMINDS ME OF SOMETHING
THAT ONCE HAPPENED TO MY MOTHER …”

    In 1974, I was invited by Anthony Rudolf to contribute an article to the London magazine, European Judaism , for an issue celebrating Charles Reznikoff’s eightieth birthday. I had been living in France for the past four years, and the little piece I sent in on Reznikoff’s work was the first thing I wrote after coming back to America. It seemed like a fitting way to mark my return.
    I moved into an apartment on Riverside Drive in late summer. After finishing the article, I discovered that Reznikoff lived very near by—on West End Avenue—and sent him a copy of the manuscript, along with a letter asking him if it would be possible for us to meet. Several weeks went by without a response.
    On a Sunday in early October I was to be married. The ceremony was scheduled to take place in the apartment at around noon. At eleven o’clock, just moments before the guests were due to arrive, the telephone rang and an unfamiliar voice asked to speak to me. “This is Charles Reznikoff,” the voice said, in a sing-song tone, looping ironically and with evident good humor. I was, of course, pleased and flattered by the call, but I explained that it would be impossible for me to talk just now. I was about to be married, and I was in no condition to form a coherent sentence. Reznikoff was highly amused by this and burst out laughing. “I never called a man on his wedding day before!” he said. “Mazel tov, mazel tov!” We arranged to meet the following week at his apartment. Then I hung up the phone and marched off to the altar.
    Reznikoff’s apartment was on the twenty-second floor of a large building complex, with a broad, uncluttered view of the Hudson and sunlight pouring through the windows. I arrived in the middle of the day, and with a somewhat stale crumb cake set before me and numerous cups of coffee to drink, I wound up staying three or four hours. The visit made such an impression on me that even now, almost a decade later, it is entirely present inside me.
    I have met some good story-tellers in my life, but Reznikoff was the champion. Some