Happiness Poem by Mark Boog

Happiness is surmountable. One places it
in a glass case and goes to work.
Those who ask are allowed to see it,
accompanied by a balanced commentary.

It is customary to lean back in the evening
and, in the refined light it is
exhibited, consider this happiness.
One gives one's companion a nudge.
They nod or say quite softly: ‘Yes.'

To what extent this happiness determines us
is not even the question: absolutely. We are nothing
but our happiness, and happiness is where we are.

Only whilst wiping the glass top
we sometimes lower our eyes. The damp cloth
is slack in our hands. So beautiful.

Translation: 2006, Willem Groenewegen