Our twentieth century was going to improve on the others.
It will never prove it now,
now that its years are numbered,
its gait is shaky,
its breath is short.
Too many things have happened
that weren't supposed to happen,
and what was supposed to come about
has not.
Happiness and spring, among other things,
Were supposed to be getting closer.
Fear was expected to leave the mountains and the valleys.
Truth was supposed to hit home
before a lie.
A couple of problems weren't going
to come up any more:
hunger, for example,
and war, and so forth.
There was going to be respect
For helpless people's helplessness,
trust, that kind of stuff.
Anyone who planned to enjoy the world
is now faced
with a hopeless task.
Stupidity isn't funny
Wisdom isn't gay.
Hope
isn't that young girl any more
et cetera, alas.
God was finally going to believe
in a man both good and strong,
but good and strong
are still two different men.
"How should we live?" someone asked me in a letter.
I had meant to ask him
the same question.
Again, as ever,
as may be seen above,
The most pressing questions
are naïve ones.
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