All this windless day snow fell into the King's Garden where I walked, perfecting and growing old, abandoning one by one everybody: randomly in love with the paradise furnace of my mind. Now I sit in the dark, dreaming of a marble sun and its strictness. This is to tell you I am not coming back. To tell you instead of my private life among people who must wrestle their hearts in order to feel anything, as though it were unnatural. What I master by day still lapses in the night. But I go on with the cargo cult, blindly feeling the snow come down, learning to flower by tightening.
You can find this poem in the Collected Poems of Jack Gilbert
Great poem! Here you have a poem about happiness in Kobenhavn, by Morten Søndergaard:
Denmark is the happiest country, Denmark
has the happiest paratroopers and artillery
bottle pickers and butchers and drummers and keepers,
the happiest social workers, the happiest suicides,
the happiest hard of hearing, pilots, janitors, politicians,
priests, pedophiles, the happiest consumers of antidepressants.
In Denmark you have the happiest orgasms and there are
the happiest kisses. Denmark has the happiest weather forecasts.
Denmark has the happiest whores, lottery winners, the
happier
below the poverty line, cancer patients
happier,
the happiest divorces, Denmark has the happiest poets
the happiest insane, Denmark has the happiest
unhappy.
My favorite poet Jack Gilbert. 🙏👍❤️