Original subtitles

[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.

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