Volume 23, Number 8 · May 13, 1976
On Hannah Arendt
By Robert Lowell
Hannah Arendt was an oasis in the fevered, dialectical dust of New York—to me, and I imagine to everyone who loved her. We met in the late Fifties or early Sixties in Mary McCarthy's apartment. She seemed hardly to take her coat off, as she brushed on with purpose to a class or functional shopping. In her hurry, she had time to say to me something like 'This is an occasion,' or more probably, 'This is a meeting.' I put the least intention into her words, but later dared telephone her to make a call. The calls were part of my life as long as I lived in New York—once a month, sometimes twice.
Feature, 1602 words
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