Reader of useless books Reader of useless books Look at your potbelly And your hands gnarled with arthritis. What good were the hours spent In the pursuit of beauty of words and paper? It would have been better To savour, now that death is haunting you, The fragrances she offered in her youth. The toothless old woman will give no more herself Than you yourself regretting now The days and months of intercourse With books and metaphors. Translated by Rowena Hill