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The author of the book in question hides behind various pseudonyms, which are promptly presented as voices from the beginning of time and as figures both familiar and strange: for he is himself a…
As Yiddish poetry grew more modern, even modernistic, as it grew freer in rhythm, subtler in tonality, more artful and sophisticated in imagery, it also grew more Jewish—I was almost going to say more…
This is a story that begins with J. It was the fifteenth of July 1930.
It’s about J; it’s about a consonant still a little vowelish, a little i-ish in the aftermath of a magic philology.
Were I not…
[ . . . ] I further wish to say: it is not sufficient that we worry ourselves with the young kids who will grow into goats—we must also be concerned with the mature goats who have already grown horns…