In preparation for a literature course on sex, drugs, and rock 'n' roll, I've been reading and listening to and watching Patti Smith. She speaks often of her influences, of her indebtedness to the poets who have influenced her. I, too, have been thinking of indebtedness, and I'd like to write of some people to whom I am indebted (in life, in love, or in spirit).
An old friend, Josef Halevi, died this past August, and although, as is my wont, I had not been in touch with him for years, I often think about him. I was 17 when first I met him. I'd been living in Paris and had begun to date Franz, a magic bus driver who lived primarily in Amsterdam. Every other weekend, I would save enough money to go to Amsterdam (transportation on the magic bus, as well as a room, was free, but I needed enough money to eat and drink; in those days, this wasn't much; however, it did mean I ate many omelets when I was in Paris). The first night in Amsterdam, Franz took me to the Cafe de Prins in the Jordaan--a neighborhood brown bar. Josef was a regular.
Soon, I moved to Amsterdam, first for a couple of months, then later for over a year. I squatted around the corner with Hans (not Franz), and I often hung out at de Prins. Over morning coffee, Josef and I became close. I'm not sure why we did--he was an accomplished Israeli painter, avid chess player, a man 26 years my senior, and I was an intense, unsettled, fuck-up. But he liked women, and women liked him; he was a strong listener, one with much experience and simpatico and humor. I was independent and assertive and very pretty then, and he liked all of those qualities in women. We also connected through being Jewish--the seriousness, cynicism, and humor-- though my own connection to Judaism was not religious (his was, but I don't remember to what extent). I liked his looks: I can still conjure his impish smile, his dismissive hand gestures, and his beautiful, elegant hands. When I left Amsterdam and returned to the states for awhile, we wrote long letters to each other. I was becoming alienated--from my friends, my city, my country--and although he must have thought my angst adolescent, he put up with it.
He'd visit NY, and he'd introduce me to friends, mostly Israeli, in Soho and Chelsea (it was with Josef that I first went to the Chelsea Hotel to visit a friend of his, an artist in residence). We would drink wine at the Soho wine bar on West Broadway and argue and laugh, and we'd go to galleries and, once, to his own opening at OK Harris. He came to a Passover sedar at my parents' house and entertained them thoroughly (not always an easy feat). I don't remember introducing him to my friends at Max's or Hurrah or The Mudd Club; indeed, I don't remember ever going to those haunts with him. I'm not sure whether this is a disconnect, or whether I thoroughly compartmentalized my social life. I do remember that by year's end I was so burnt out from too many boys and too many drugs and too much rock 'n' roll that he offered to take a friend and me to San Francisco with him so that I could recoup. He flew in from Amsterdam, and the three of us flew to California. There, he hit on my friend, and we'd somewhat of a falling out over the incident, but mostly, we didn't see each other much in San Francisco because there were more boys and more drugs and more rock 'n' roll.
When next I saw Josef, I was squatting with Brian in Amsterdam, again on Niewe Leliestraat, around the corner from de Prins. We would connect from time-to-time, but I was preoccupied with Brian and my other life in Amsterdam. He did get me a job modeling naked for art students in the university (I think it was the university), and he was always there when I needed him. But I wasn't there for him. After I'd a painful abortion, I'd awakened to see Brian (and Kurt, my other roommate) shooting up, and I was disgusted. I ran to Josef's home --on Egelantierstraat--a few blocks away from my own--, and he'd comforted me. It was the day of his annual oxtail stew dinner, and the house was full of people, but he took the time to listen to my problems. He encouraged me to move in with him and his wife. I returned to Brian, but knew I had to leave Amsterdam with him. Soon thereafter, Brian and I moved to Dublin. I never said goodbye to Josef, and I never saw him again, and to this day, I regret it.
Here's an image of Josef and his work in the years that I knew him: http://josefhalevi.com/.
About Me
- Eileen
- I am what I do. What I do is teach. I direct my college's new honors program. I think about American protest literature and about life in American communes during the 19th & 20th centuries, and I think a lot about sonnets. I participate in shared governance on campus and in SUNY. I watch many Red Sox games with my husband, Lewis. Lewis and I walk our dog Frankie in Niskayuna during the week and in Otsego County during the weekend. It is in Otsego County that I feel most at home: we have a small geodesic dome in the woods where we cook, dance, hike, and breathe. The rest of the week I live in Schenectady. I don't dance as much there, but I do talk with students, and read their papers, and help them through their days, and I do chill in my backyard with Frankie, and his feline brothers, Giacomo and Yaz. In the summer when Lewis, Frankie and I are not at the dome, we are usually on the road west --to the northwoods of Wisconsin, where I like the loons and even the people and the clear waters--or further west--anywhere--, where the light is transcendent and the mythos magical. I love what I do and with whom I do it. I am one lucky son of a bitch.