Eugene Nadelman

An Excerpt from a Novel in Sonnets by Michael Weingrad

The following is an excerpt from Michael Weingrad’s verse novel Eugene Nadelman: A Tale of the 1980s in Verse. Chapter Four finds the teenage protagonist at camp in the summer of ‘83 while his beloved travels Europe. NVR is grateful to Paul Dry Books for permission to reproduce the excerpt here.

Be sure to check out Jonathan Geltner’s review of Eugene Nadelman for NVR.

16.

Some boys are playing cards, some sulking,
Another pounds on a Mattel.
Eugene, who brought along his Tolkien,
Is currently in Rivendell,
Though, typical of bunk decorum,
One camper’s reading Penthouse Forum
And, lying on a nearby cot,
Is Truly Tasteless Jokes (Blanche Knott).
The rain, which shows no sign of stopping,
Drowns out the poker talk and bleeps
So well at least one camper sleeps.
And so it goes until, all sopping,
The counselor, with a plastic bag,
Returns to interrupt this stag.

17.

He’s brought the mail which he distributes,
The envelopes and packages
Surrendered with sarcastic tributes.
Eugene hopes one of them is his,
Though as the pile continues shrinking
He feels his expectations sinking.
But then: “O mon-syur Nadelman!”
The counselor waves an onionskin
With blue and red along its edges,
His address, and a heart that’s drawn
Beside a box with “par avion,”
Embodiment of summer pledges
That still obtain, though delicate.
He holds his breath and opens it.

18.

Dear Gene,
My love! Amore mio!
I hope this letter finds you well.
I’m thinking of you constantly. Oh
I miss you, Genie! Can you tell?
I’m certain that my previous letter
From Venice hasn’t reached you yet (or
Perhaps was never sent? They say
The postmen here throw mail away!)
Since last I wrote, we saw the Ghetto,
Which made me think of you at camp,
And then we had a scenic tramp,
And hopped on board a vaporetto
To where they make Venetian glass.
I bought a little demitasse.

19.

It’s wild to stroll by the Palazzo
Ducale and the Campanile.
The tourists and the heat are not so
Entrancing, but it’s no big deal.
My dad reminded me this area
Was once infested with malaria
Which made me think of Henry James
And all those mean (but funny) names
You had for him and his poor Daisy.
But as for me it’s fair to say
I’m not about to waste away.
I’m stuffed with art, from Veronese
To Tiepolo, and overfed
On buckwheat pasta, cheese, and bread.

20.

Turns out my father’s an enjoyer
Of food and art and things sublime
And not the boring corporate lawyer
Who’s always working overtime.
Before this trip I thought the kernel
Of family culture was maternal
But now I see I never had
The chance to really know my dad.
He told me that he’s even thinking
Of switching jobs to something more
Like legal service for the poor.
Or maybe it’s the wine he’s drinking?
In any case he’s such a dear.
Of course I wish that you were here!

21.

The sweetest of my Venice moments
Was last night on the Bridge of Sighs.
(Remember, in “A Little Romance”?)
I sighed for you. Don’t roll your eyes!
I wished so much that I could kiss you.
Have I told you how much I miss you?
And yet I often feel that from
Across the ocean you become
So present that it’s overpowering.
Please write me when you get a chance,
And use our poste restante in France.
I’m sure you’re busy yet I’m scouring
The pensione every day for mail.
I love you, Gene.
Yours,
                   Abigail

Michael Weingrad is a professor of Jewish Studies, translator of Hebrew poetry, and author of a novel of the 1980s in Pushkin sonnets. His publications include American Hebrew Literature: Writing Jewish National Identity in the United States, Letters to America: Selected Poems of Reuven Ben-Yosef, and the English translation of Shay Charka’s Judessey: A Graphic Novel of the Holocaust. He recently co-edited a special issue in English translation of the Israeli poetry journal Yehee. He is currently working on two book projects, one on Jews and fantasy literature and the other on divorce in American film.