I want to know everything.
I want a study filled with books
From floor to ceiling. I want the time
To read them, mark them, return to them
So many times that I shall have distilled
Their essences and mixed them.
I want to have travelled, known people,
Animals and plants, enough to be able
To write books myself. I want to have
Mastered the sciences, looked through
Microscopes and telescopes;
To arrange all these things in boxes,
Then take them out and make
A great bowl of stew, a philosophical broth.
I shall serve myself big helpings
From a huge soup tureen with a bucket-ladle
On to a basin plate.
I shall lap it all up, slurping, slurping
Like a hungry cat.
- - - - - (1967)
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Life piled on life Were all too little, and of one to me Little remains; but every hour is saved From that eternal silence, something more, A bringer of new things; and vile it were For some three suns to store and hoard myself, And this gray spirit yearning in desire To follow knowledge like a sinking star, Beyond the utmost bound of human thought. - same idea here but one that teases every enquiring mind