O, in evening, Marianne,
With evening different everywhere,
Young men think of their past,
And think, too, of what the hell may be coming to them when coming days will have come to them, these thinking young men with a past and with desires.
Meanwhile, winds may be dying,
Or, somewhere, somewhere else, this is what it means for evenings to be different, winds may just be starting to be getting really strong,
And may now be sending paper on the street or in a road higher, almost or nearly, than paper ever went before, with winds doing the sending of paper to the sky.
(The sky just has to be, will be always, whether paper's going up or no.)
Coming to these young men, Marianne:
While in thousands of rooms under an early beginning moon, ties are being used to help along young men's necks in streets, and socks are being put on feet more or less rightly, being put on, anyway, usefully,
While thousands of young men think of the present and coming evening, and of other evenings and days,
O, Marianne, the sun is ready to come again,
And it will come, and how Marianne.
Without the sun, Marianne, ties would not be put on.
Without the sun, Marianne, socks wouldn't come to young men's feet neatly, usefully.
Even, Marianne, without the sun winds would not be to do the things winds do do and do.
lt's a very connected world, Marianne.
Emptiness, just so, isn't had at all, Marianne.
Young men have to do with ever so many million things, Marianne.
Marianne, it's a very connected world.
That takes you in, Marianne.
It should, I think, too.
You deserve it and the world does.
So let be as is this universe.
Quite so, this universe, Marianne.
Marianne, as had this universe.
What do you say, girl?
It means something to me, what you say about this, girl.
You know it does.
And it does.
And it does, Marianne.
From Hail, American Development (Definition Press)
© 1927, 1967 by Eli Siegel