THE COURIER
By Donald Lev
i ran all the way i almost
slipped on the gravel path i want-
ed to be first with the news i
had learned before anyone what
it was everyone wanted to
know i knew i wanted to tell
i wanted to watch everyone's
eyes light with wonder and satis-
faction or shut tight with fear and
melancholy i wanted to
see their jaws drop and their feet stamp
when i told them what they must hear
i wanted to feel their joy and
their wrath their misgivings and mis-
understandings when i addressed
each in his own tongue i couldn't wait
so i ran all the way the ho-
rizon kept receding but my
message and my knowledge urged me
on the skies were darkening street
lamps were beginning to come on
lights were being lit in the cot-
tages on the hills the villa-
ges i was racing to reach be-
fore it was too late to be the
first with the news but the hills kept
receding and i kept running
and kept running and keep running
THE HUMAN CONDITION IN BRIGHTON BEACH
by Donald Lev
Did you see the salt shaker?
It has been carried away.
And the onion that lay in slices on this very table only
yesterday
is likewise mysteriously vanished.
And the lace curtains that moved so gracefully in that window
are gone also.
And the porcelein pitcher from Mexico, I'd never think to
miss it,
but I see it's not in its usual place on the book shelf.
What has happened to the independent clutter about me?
What tricks are occurring, and why?
There was a third left to that stick of butter only just a
moment ago.
Where is it now?
It's not madness. I am sure of that. I am sure of that.
Madness is such an old fashioned idea and it would never apply
to me.
My friends would have told me by now. They hold nothing back
from me.
I think I'd better go for a walk. I'll take an umbrella.
I'll walk over to the beach to have a look at the sea,
or I'll go up to Coney Island Avenue and buy a knish.
A kasha knish, maybe, with a cup of very light coffee.
Then I'll go to the post office and buy some stamps.
Just so I can stand on the line and grumble together
with everybody else and watch how the wily Russians
sneak to the front of the line. But what did I do with my
key?
This is beginning to get to me. I can't leave the house
without my key.
And obviously, if I stay here I'll go crazy.
FALL AND WINTER (A Russian Novel)
By Donald Lev
zetsov was only thirty versts from
putzov, but i refused to walk.
Anatoly! i implore you to drive me
to zetsov. i'll give you four
rubles.
anatoly spit contemptuously. "Six"
he replied.
but i only have four. for the love of
God, anatoly!
he signalled me to climb up into the
wagon beside him.
when i reached the house in retznikoyaslav alley
grechunka was away in the forest feeding her wolves.
Or so nikolai, her father's half-brother and her slave,
would have led me to believe.
but i did not believe, i could not believe!
so i set forth for the quarter called svetlaya,
a haven for gypsies pimps and poles,
searching for my grechunka, to repay
her the thirty rubles i had cheated
out of her worthless uncle prince pitkin.
But she was nowhere about.
Let her feed her wolves! i shouted,
and ordered more vodka
my head was spinning as they led me away.