-
Memories of Pittsburgh and Stern
- University of Arkansas Press
- Chapter
- Additional Information
Memories of Pittsburgh and Stern You haven’t suffered, he says. Not like we suffered in Pittsburgh. A ratty coat and the wind whipping down French Street. Or twelve straight at Bessemer, sparks fizzy around your waist every time they poured. Take Jack Gilbert, smashing scorpions with a frying pan. Or Phil Levine. Phil’s from Detroit, but he knew how to suffer. This was years before air conditioning. Phil, Jack, and Gerry, slaving poems all summer in Pittsburgh. Read Hikmet, he says, Hikmet died for poetry. You? Never even had to eat Heinz tomato soup. He says Hikmet was really a baker in a little place on Third. The heat in that bakery! Kneading dough, singing out poems! Monongahela! That’s five syllables––he’d sing, Allegheny! That’s four. The air so thick with yeast, he’d sing those river names so you knew he was there. 39 ...