Thank you for this!
(You might want to excise the excrescent i in the stanza-ending "when I got backi was look it up.")

My pleasure! And thanks for pointing out the error; I've fixed it.

Coetzee wrote a book titled "Foe," and I believe that this novel sheds more light on his speech than does Bishop, as lovely as her poem is.

I love Bishop but had missed this poem -- thanks for posting it -- it's wonderful.

Ah, that lecture! Thanks a million for pointing to it, if I read something better this year I'll be, um, very pleased.
So much nicer too than the grim Coetzee of the novels . . .

Caterina,
Not only do you have my favorite name, but what seems like great taste in literature, I have just started blogging and really hope you don't have to close the sight.
Larry Riordan.

Dedicated to all men and women (who did not chatter too much)lost in the fens of Lincolnshire and buried at Mountmill cemetery. Amen.

Bobe-Mayse No 5765

Browsing the web the other day, I stumbled by chance on a story, or lecture, or bobe-mayse given recently to the Swedish Academy and published by the Nobel Foundation.

On the following day, finding my way through the fens of Lincolnshire which were full of ducks, mallards, teals and widgeons, I observed a sign which read “No matter how far you sail, no matter where you hide, you will be searched out”.

Despite the fact that I was not much of a sailor (although I can speak and understand Yiddish) and was not hiding (or seeking, or both), I decided to turn back.

On my way back to Boston, I met a strange man, who was sitting stark naked under the tree and playing with his Palm Pilot. He looked post middle-aged (1???-1???) and could pass, considering his age, as a wandering Jew.

But his obvious lack of Yiddish skills, despite my repeated attempts to talk to him, convinced me otherwise.

He understood only one word in Yiddish. Each time I would say metsieh, he would leap and prance and make a thousand gestures and motions and point proudly to his Palm Pilot.

He told me that his name was Dinnis or Dennis, or Denes and that he was the only man who was ever able to escape that infamous engine of execution called Halifax Gibbet.

He also told me that he keeps busy by working part-time for the Bureau of Indian Affairs, using his Palm Pilot to keep track of Indian students lost in the fens of Lincolnshire. He even joked that the pay is low, but the job is permanent.

As to his knowledge of the word metsieh, he learned it from the store owner who sold to him the Palm Pilot. Dinnis, or Dennis, or Denes recalled that the shop was located on Harrow Alley near Petticoat Lane, Whitechappel, and that every time he tried to bargain down the price, the owner would repeat like a parrot “This is a metsieh! This is a metsieh!”.

Next day, while continuing with my journey back to Boston, I met another man with a mole on his nose and a sore on his chin. He was a bit younger than Dinnis, or Dennis, or Denes but also middle-aged.

He was sitting on a pile of cash (it looked like USD $1.3M), completely naked and looking at the screen of his brand new laptop featuring voice recognition.

He told me that his name was J.M. Coetzee (pronounced as in metsieh) and that he was the only man ever able to escape that infamous engine of execution called Halifax Gibbet.

When I politely tried to explain to him that the other day I met Dinnis, or Dennis, or Denes, who told me a similar story, he smiled broadly and said reassuredly let me tell you another story.

When the kingdom decided to join the European Union, they had to abolish the death penalty and with it to destroy the engine of execution called Halifax Gibbet. But they decided to keep it and secretly rename it Halifax Search Engine. Not only that - they secretly changed many other names as well, e.g. decoys became key-words, fens became programs, decoy-men became programmers etc. etc. I know all that because I was in charge of that project.

But how can you prove it to me? I asked.

Go to Halifax Search Engine and you will not find any name or any entry relating to me he replied.

Nervously, I spoke the phrase ‘J.M. Coetzee’ (pronounced as ‘metsieh’) into the microphone of his laptop (although he assured me that it was possible to use a keyboard on a less-sophisticated laptop) and a message instantly appeared on the screen: No Findit results from this search.

But if you really want to get in touch with me in the future, he added, try F.J. Chiaventone on Google.

By the time I reached Boston, it was late at night. Tired and frustrated, I sat down and tracked F.J. Chiaventone, by which time I almost went mad (and who is to say, except F.J. Chiaventone, that I did not, in some measure). But that is another story, lecture, or bobe-mayse. Meanwhile, I have to send this email but don’t know where - to him or to his man:

Was it odd of God
To choose Coetzee?
There were few who thought
He was a metsieh.

He is always straight
And his man is narrow.
Should we take their bait
In the Alley called Harrow?

Jack Lasky.

© Max Polishuk 2003

General permission is granted for the publication in newspapers in any language except Yiddish. Publication in periodicals or books otherwise than in summary requires the consent of Max Polishuk. On all publications in full or in major parts the above underlined copyright notice must be applied.

Dedicated to all men (and women who did not chatter too much) lost in the fens of Lincolnshire and buried at Mountmill cemetery. Amen.

Bobe-Mayse No 5765

He and his woman

Cleaning the attic the other day, I stumbled by chance on a story, or lecture, or bobe-mayse given recently to the Swedish Academy and published by the Nobel Foundation.

On the following day, finding my way through the fens of Lincolnshire which were full of ducks, mallards, teals and widgeons, I observed a sign which read “No matter how far you sail, no matter where you hide, you will be searched out”.

Despite the fact that I was not much of a sailor (although I can speak and understand Yiddish) and was not hiding (or seeking or vice versa), I decided to turn back.

On my way back to Boston, I met a strange man, who was sitting stark naked under the tree and playing with his Palm Pilot. He looked post middle-aged (1???-1???) and could pass, considering his age, as a wandering Jew.

But his lack of Yiddish with the exception of one word, despite my repeated attempts to talk to him, convinced me otherwise.

Each time I would say metsieh, he would leap and prance and make a thousand gestures and motions and point proudly to his Palm Pilot.

He told me that his name was Dinnis or Dennis, or Denes and that he was the only man alive who was to escape that infamous engine of execution called Halifax Gibbet.

As to his knowledge of the word metsieh, he learned it from the store owner who sold to him the Palm Pilot. Dinnis, or Dennis, or Denes recalled that the shop was located on Harrow Alley near Petticoat Lane, Whitechappel, and that every time he tried to bargain down the price, the owner would repeat like a parrot “This is a metsieh! This is a metsieh!”.

Next day, on the way back to Boston, I met another man with a mole on his nose and a sore on his chin. He was a bit younger than Dinnis or Dennis or Denes but also middle-aged.

He was sitting on a pile of cash (it looked like USD $1.3M), completely naked and looking at his brand new laptop featuring voice recognition.

He told me that his name was J.M. Manziev (pronounced as in metsieh) and that he was the only man to escape that infamous engine of execution in Halifax.

When I politely tried to explain to him that the other day I met Dinnis, or Dennis, or Denes, who told me a similar story, he smiled broadly and said reassuredly let me tell you another story.

When the kingdom decided to join the European Union, they had to abolish the death penalty and with it to destroy the engine of execution called Halifax Gibbet. But they decided to keep it and secretly rename it Halifax Search Engine. Not only that - they secretly changed many other names as well, e.g. decoys became key-words, fens became servers, decoy-men became programmers etc. etc. I know all that because I was in charge of that project.

But how can you prove it to me? I asked.

Go to Halifax Search Engine and you will not find any name or any entry relating to me he replied.

I whispered the phrase ‘J.M. Manziev’ (pronounced as ‘metsieh’) into the microphone of his laptop (although he assured me that it was possible to use a keyboard on a less-sophisticated model) and a message instantly appeared on the screen: No Findit results from this search.

But if you really want to get in touch with me in the future, he added, try F.J. Chiaventone on Google.

I reach Boston. It is late at night. Tired and frustrated, I am sitting down and tracking F.J. Chiaventone, slowly going mad (and who is to say, except F.J. Chiaventone, that I am not, in some measure?). But that is another story, lecture, or bobe-mayse. Meanwhile, I have to send this email, but I'm not sure to whom - to him or to his woman.

J.M. Manziev

29-12-2004

I have plenty of coffee but bring some cream with you

Why Max is so rude about this chracter?
Did he feel it? Of course he did.
Did he do anything about it?Of course he did not.
Will he be ok?He usually is,but on the other hand.
On the other hand,his mother........
jack

Thank you for this!
(You might want to excise the . before we get together).
T.S.EnkYou

we have plenty of kofi just bring some cream with you,and put on that red shirt,and bring with you "jonny come lately"with his "partner".i have counted 14 holesbut one is so big you can drive "volkswagen"throuuugh it.why wolksvagen,why not?

if the report shows a dead or missing in actuon reporter then the report is dead too,isnt it/