High this morning
(tomorrow I fly to Tasmania) ,
I analysed the complex blend
that concocts 'Jardins de Bagatelle':
What makes this form of gardenia
so more eternally bearable
than the sweetness of the flower alone.
I want to introduce 'What'
to simpler fragrances
to make the world eternally bearable.
I will make enemies
of wallowers in simplicity,
but feel I will not long need
the world's supply of that.
Once I've isolated 'What'
they can resume their simple way.
Yet there must be some collusion
between their brains and nostrils:
Instead of seeking 'What'
could I alter sense,
make eternity bear
simplicity?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem