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It may seem a little tasteless to go into it at any lengthrather like insisting on reading the entire script of Abies Irish Rose to a perfect stranger over the phonebut Seymour was a half Jew, and while I cant speak up with the great Kafkas absolute authority on this theme, its my very sober guess, at forty, that any thinking man with a muchness of Semitic blood in his veins either lives or has lived on oddly intimate, almost mutually knowledgeable terms with his hands, and though he may go along for years and years figuratively or literally keeping them in his pockets (not always, Im afraid, altogether unlike two pushy old friends or relatives hed prefer not to bring to the party), he will, I think, use them, break them out very readily, in a crisis, often do something drastic with them in a crisis, such as mentioning, unpoetically, in the middle of a poem that it was the left hand the cat bitand poetry, surely, is a crisis, perhaps the only actionable one we can call our own