The writing of poems
and the living of life
seem to require

because there is no reason for my sitting here laughing

O fate, O sad duty, / O mankind, O life, what does it mean?

I would like to devote my special attention
To this horse
Let me tell you about it

Loneliness comes rushing toward me
Why does it move so fast
When I am moving toward it

When I am dead and gone
they will say of me,
“We never could figure out 

“I’m going out for a pack of cigarettes.”
  At one point in the history of our language —roughly
from the 1920s into the early 1950s is my guess —those

Beautiful, an O fell from your mouth

You were born already beautiful

My little wife suggested that I tell you this story / because she received such pleasure from it, / and I such pleasure in the telling.