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Poem	As he grew famous-”ah, but what is fame?-” he lost his old obsession with his name, things seemed to matter less, including the fame-”a television team came from another country to make a film of him which did not him distress: he enjoyed the hard work & he was good at that, so they all said-”the charming Englishman among the camera & the lights mathematically wandered in his pub & livingroom doing their duty, as too he did it, but where are the delights of long-for fame, unless fame makes him feel easy? I am cold & weary, said Henry, fame makes me feel lazy, yet i must do my best. It doesn't matter, truly. It doesn't matter truly. It seems to be solely a matter of continuing Henry voicing & obsessed.
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