It’s poignant and gloomy to me who am grounded

to see the young how they race and clamber

tote heavy loads and sing all night

then sleep away and snore.

It’s boring and gloomy to hear them fanatically

repeating the ideology of the Thirties

that was inauthentic also the first time.

They would lend me a little of their vitality

if I could hang around condoning their politics,

but I lash out and make them dislike me

and so teach them nothing, gloomier myself.

I know it’s no advantage to be right;

gaya scienzia is nature’s way.

What an ugly character I have,

able to love only people

that I can take seriously,

imposing the heavy weight of my attentiveness

that of course neither of us can sustain.