名人诗歌|Hans Reading, Hans Smoking

You are sitting there reading and smoking， Hans，

And this would describe for her， to her utter

Satisfaction， what it is you are doing.

Knowing you I guess you are stationed there

In grief， reverie， worryyour car broken

Down， the mechanic wanting money， and you without，

For the moment， what it takesand you thinking

Of love lost as you read that impossible book

Your father last gave youI see you smoking

And as an addict^{2 myself I know this is something}

You are barely doingThe habit smokes itself

And you， you are turning the page where the woman

From New Orleans， like your woman， goes to Manhattan.

I suppose my mother， in her mania^{3， could never afford}

To think there was anything hovering^{4 around， anything}

Behind behavior. Unable to sit， to go into that sorrow

Where what failed to happen presses against what did，

She would get up， go out looking for Something

Different， do anything to keep moving， behaving

Going. But you， Hans， you are a sitter， and I know

You will not be getting up until you have put this time

Behind you. And so your friends pass by waiting，

Wanting to know what you will come up with when you rise

From your stationary^{5 chair， our Hans reading and smoking.}