Foreign by William Carlos Williams — Read

Artsybashev is a Russian.

I am an American.

Let us wonder, my townspeople, / if Artsybashev tends his own fires / as I do, gets himself cursed / for the baby's failure to thrive, / loosens windows for the woman / who cleans his parlor -- / or has he neat servants / and a quiet library, an / intellectual wife perhaps and / no children -- an apartment / somewhere in a back street or / lives alone or with his mother / or sister -- / I wonder, my townspeople, / if Artsybashev looks upon / himself the more concernedly / or succeeds any better than I in laying the world.

I wonder which is the bigger / fool in his own mind.

These are shining topics / my townspeople but -- / hardly of great moment.