All language subtitles for Head.Of.The.Class.S01E14_

[theme music]

[music continues]

[instrumental music]

Good morning, Goobs.

Hello, Goobs.

Hi, Dr. Samuels,
you wanted to see me?

- In my office, now.
- Okay.

Sit down!

Does this look familiar to you?

It looks like an office memo.

"To all faculty,
from Dr. Samuels.

"Reference, name change.

"From now on,
in accordance with my desire

"to be less formal

please refer to me as Goobs."

That's very warm and human.

Blunden, you wrote this

along with last week's memo
to the senior class

to take off every Friday.

Dr. Samuels, look, I-I don't
know what came over me, I--

Whatever came over you is over.

No more class clown.
Put that down!

You could become one of
the country's top scientist

if you attended
the right university.

And that won't happen
unless you have

a recommendation
from your principal.

And right now,
I wouldn't recommend you

to barber school.

Get out.

[sighs]

One other thing.

How did you find out
about Goobs?

Your wife wrote it
on your lunch bag.

Hi, Dennis.

Morning, Goobs.

[indistinct chatter]

- Morning, everybody.
- Morning.

Listen, before we begin,
uh, Dennis has an announcement.

I just want to say
that from now on

you're looking
at the new Dennis Blunden.

Serious, dedicated,
future physicist of America.

[laughing]

No more sarcasm.

No more wit.

No more jokes.

Sounds like fun.

Now, Dennis is trying
to become a new person

and we all have
to help along.

Thank you.

(Moore)
'Okay, now, let's begin.'

Start a little mail call here.
See what we got.

Me, me..

Arvid Engen.

From MIT?

"Professor Moara." See?

You write to these people,
they do respond.

Come on up here and read it.

Oh, hold on, I'm right there.
I just--

Uh, Arvid,
where are your glasses?

Well, I'm trying new contacts,
but I keep losing one.

But do you think it could
float up into my brain?

Arvid, a contact lens
can't reach your brain.

Okay, great, 'cause, you know, I
was thinking that i-if it did--

Yes. Why don't you just
read the letter?

- I should just read the letter.
- Sure.

"Dear Arvid."

First-name basis, heh.

"I greatly appreciated your
letter analyzing my paper

"on topological formations in
three dimensional constructs.

It was intelligent, perceptive
and eloquent."

[chuckles]

"Your matter brings to mind
my own youth.

"I, too, was obsessed
with random integers

"set theory and breasts.

I seem to.."

I.. Mr. Moore, do I have to
go on? This is kinda personal.

No, you can skip
whatever is personal.

(Arvid)
Okay. Ahem.

Oh, here, okay.

"P.S..

Keep trying, I'm sure she'll.."
Oh, boy, this..

Th-this part here too
is personal.

Very good. Very good.

You made direct contact with

one of the most important voices
of our time. So write back.

And, this time, try to remember
he's Prof. Moara

and not Dr. Ruth.

Mr. Moore,
there are about six workmen

replacing
one pane of glass in my office.

I thought I'd observe
for a while.

Uh, did I interrupt anything?

Uh, I-I was just reading
a letter I got

from a world-famous
mathematician.

Nice. But what's that
got to do with history?

The assignment
was to correspond

with people
of historical significance.

Dennis, who did you write to?

Chevy Chase?

[laughs]

No.

I wrote to one
of the original physicists

who worked on the atomic bomb.

I sent one of my poems
to T. Robert Lasker.

He's one of America's
greatest poets.

He is?

He is also one of
Mr. Moore's favorites.

- "Rent-a-Justice?"
- I loved it.

"Eighth Street Blues?"

"Elegy for the Five Spy."

He's in a vanguard
of minimal striders.

I have everything he ever wrote.
I have pictures of him--

- Did you ever meet him?
- Yeah.

I went to Claypool's Bookstore

when he was signing one of his
collections, and we talked.

What did he say?

Well, he told me
I was blocking the aisle

and I said sorry.

Yeah, that's minimalist,
alright.

You can make fun
if you want to, Eric

but he is a great man,
right, Mr. Moore?

As far as I am concerned
he is one of our

most innovative poets.

We should move on, huh?
Samuels.

Uh, go right, go right ahead.

[chuckles]
Today, I'm just
one of the class.

Just treat me exactly as you
would any other gifted student.

Okay.

So, who can tell me, uh

the reason for the principle
migratory patterns

of, uh, nomadic societies
in 17th century Syria?

Dr. Samuels?

Whoa!

[instrumental music]

Simone. Look.

Mr. Moore.

Actual letter from
T. Robert Lasker.

Oh, when I touch it,
you can feel the genius.

Look, his handwriting.

Doesn't he make a beautiful S
on the Simone?

Yeah.

Crosses his T's, just like I do.

- Are we being silly?
- No. W-we're just fans.

As in fanatic.

Thank you, Mr. Moore.

This assignment is the best
thing that ever happened to me.

- Oh, my God.
- I know.

- It's terrible.
- What?

Bad news. You'll never guess.

Let me try.

Never mind.

T. Robert Lasker,
Simone's poet, passed away.

(Alan)
Oh, no.

"T. Robert Lasker,
the American poet

"died in Schindler's
the delicatessen he made famous

"in his poem cycle
"Sonnets and Side-orders."

"Friends say he wrote something
on a placemat

"stepped outside to mail a
letter and returned to his table

where he collapsed."

I wonder what
his last words were.

- Where's Simone?
- Who's gonna tell her?

He died?

What happened?

We're really sorry, Simone.

We know how much
he meant to you.

And to Mr. Moore.

I-I just read a, an interview
with him in "The Voice."

I can't believe he is gone.
It's so unfair.

Well, should we open the letter?

Simone?

I can't.

[gasps]
It's the place mat.

- Yeah.
- What does it say?

"For something delicious,
try our knishes."

I don't think I can
read this right now.

I'll read it.

"Ode to Ms. Odeus.

"Your poem is one long,
dismal platitude

"with no rhythm, no rhyme
and no attitude.

'"So here is a gist.'

'"If you'd simply desist'

you'd be blessed with
my undying gratitude."

You know something,
he is good.

[instrumental music]

Simone, I'm sorry.

You know, Simone, I know exactly
what you are going through.

I mean, you wanna cry
and you wanna scream

and you wanna go home and lock
yourself in your closet.

But don't do that to yourself.

There's a better way.
Take it out on your mother.

Why are you having a meltdown

because some guy
trashes your work?

Some dead guy.

And he's some dead guy
who writes on a placemat

from a deli.
Not even a good deli.

I just don't understand,
that's all.

Look, no matter what he said,
I think you are a good poet.

"Friends will gather
to remember him

"at Lasker's favorite haunt.

Claypool's Book Store,
Wednesday at 8:00 p.m."

That's tonight. Are you going?

I'm not sure. I can't think
about it right now.

Well, go, Simone,
i-it could be interesting.

There'll probably be some other
poets reading from their work.

Yeah, yeah, like,
"Apples are green.

"Grass is greener.
Lasker is dead.

Who cares? He's a wiener."

Thank you very much, Eric.

You really know how to make
a person feel better.

But, what-what did I do?

You okay?

No, I feel awful.

- You?
- Same.

He was really important to me.

I don't like
what he said to you.

Thanks, Mr. Moore.

But, if we respect his poetry,
we should respect

his opinions about poetry,
shouldn't we?

You know, what makes me
really mad?

Just that I can't go to
that remembrance tonight

because of what he did.

Well, l-let's get
something straight.

I mean, what he mostly did
was die.

Other than that,
in order of importance

he criticized your poetry.

Poetry is no longer
a part of my life.

You're going to quit writing?

Yes.

Ah, one less poet in the world.

Make that two less poets.

Simone!

Poetry is not an easy game.

Now, if you're gonna crumble in
the face of a little criticism

you won't survive anyway.

But it was
T. Robert Lasker's criticism.

Yeah, but, Simone,
there's something inside of you

that is strong,
and it makes you write poetry.

How can one man's opinion
be stronger than that?

[instrumental music]

Glad you decided to come.

Just curious.

Friends, scriveners

we are gathered here tonight

to pay final respects

to a fellow poet

T. Robert Lasker.

He spent many an hour here.

No money, just many an hour.

'Back in the early years, before
Robbie or I were published..'

'...he came to me one day
and he said..'

- Eric, what are you doing here?
- I don't know.

I just thought
you could use some company.

Well, I've got company.

And to say I didn't mean
to upset you.

I'm sorry that you're sorry
the guy died.

- Hi.
- Hi.

I know that our hearts are full
and our voice is ready.

Each one of us bears
some testimony to his genius.

Jack, would you like to begin?

Robbie.

Poets.

A man of warmth

generosity and courage.

He was like a tree

offering shade.

- What?
- Eric!

And so farewell, gentle bard.

After you, the rest is silence.

[applause]

- Who are they talking about?
- Eric!

Well, how can they say that
about a guy who--

Shut and be quiet.
Don't say that.

Yes? Did you wanna say
something?

- No.
- No.

Yes.

I would like to say something.

Lasker, uh..

His Manhattan poems, for me
a teenager in Weiser, Idaho

were like beautifully
written invitations

to come to New York.

To, as you said,
measure myself

against the concrete titans
of light and steel.

To find myself amidst the mass

singular and strong.

And I did.
And I'm grateful.

Robert Lasker inspired.

He challenged, he-he provoked.

He was truly a poet

which is not
an easy thing to be.

'But..'

...even though
I loved his work

the truth of the matter is
I doubt I would have loved him.

[indistinct chatter]

A great artist is not
necessarily a great guy.

(female 1)
'He's right.'

Well, I-I mean,
I teach poetry at Columbia.

He called me an idiot
in front of my entire class.

Well, I-I mean, he was brilliant
but he was mean.

Mean?

[chuckles]

He borrowed my car once,
then he sold it.

But he was a fine poet.

What am I doing?

I've organized
a memorial service

for a guy who ran off
with my wife.

Now I'll tell you something.

This girl, my friend..

Wait.

She wrote him a letter
and sent him a poem

and he wrote back
and trashed her work.

Trashed? You wanna
talk about trashed?

He said that my poetry was mush

not fit for dogs.

He called me
a purveyor of pabulum.

And I have a Pulitzer prize.

He hated T.S. Eliot,
Cummings, MacLeish--

Oh, h-he ruined
Emily Dickinson for me.

He, uh, he said you could sing
any Emily Dickinson poem

to the tune of
"Yellow Rose of Texas."

[chuckles]
I still can't read her
without h-humming.

Look, I-I really
came to praise Lasker.

- Not to bury him.
- No, it's okay.

Robbie would have loved it.

You know, in his life,
he dished it out.

Now that he is dead, we can
safely give some of it back!

S-so what you're saying is,
if he hated her poem

that means it was
a pretty good poem.

Yes. Now, young lady,
can we hear this poem?

Oh, I can't.

- Go.
- I can't.

Here's one he especially hated.

He said it was
a long, vapid platitude.

"Soho rain seeps into my soul.

"Eighth street gleams
its oil-slicked grin.

"Drifters, heads, panhandlers

"poets pirouette
the shining stage.

And I too, their
secret choreographer."

[applause]

- That was a good poem.
- No, it wasn't a good poem.

It was a finely crafted poem.

- Did you like the imagery?
- No, I didn't.

But that's just a matter
of personal taste.

(male 1)
I did.

[indistinct chatter]

This is fun.

[indistinct chatter]

[instrumental music]

"Because I could not
stop for death

"he kindly stopped for me.

"The carriage held
but just ourselves

and immortality."

He was right.

Mr. Moore, did you really
call Lasker a jerk?

Well, uh, not in those words.

There were poets present.

Everybody agreed he was right.

And Simone read her poem.

- Huh?
- What did they say?

Well, they argued, but most
of them agreed it was okay.

Well, it was a little
more than okay.

They're publishing it
in the memorial booklet.

[cheering]

Let me guess. It's called
"Robert Lasker, Eat This."

Dennis, I thought
you were going straight.

Yeah, well, back off, big red.

At least my letter
didn't kill someone.

[laughing]

Wait till you hear this.

"Dear Dennis, in response
to your question

"we at Los Alamos had
various methods of relieving

"psychological pressure while
working on the atomic bomb.

"My favorite was
the radioactive meatloaf.

"In the cafeteria, we talked
about shaving the general's cat

"and telling him that
the cat ate the meatloaf.

"Humor! Practical jokes!
Go for it.

"Scientists are people too.

"There's nothing like
an eight point three

"on the yuck meter
to ease the tension.

"Keep on studying.
Definitely keep on laughing.

Peace."

Hey! Hey!
Yo, Dr. Samuels, nice tie.

Somebody must have
guessed his weight.

I'm back.

[instrumental music]

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