For The Beauty Of You

Considered one of the German language's greatest 20th-century poet, Rainer Maria Rilke wrote what is now known as The Book of Hours following a trip to Russia during his early twenties. Rilke's Book is broken down into three parts: "The Book of a Monastic Life," "The Book of Pilgrimage," and "The Book of Poverty and Death." Though Poetry Wednesday is nearly over, my three offerings for this bitter cold Iowa day are taken from "The Book of Pilgrimage." And you can click here to enjoy what others have shared today. Enjoy!

Ich bete wider, du Erlauchter

I am praying again, Awesome One.

You hear me again, as words

from the depths of me

rush toward you in the wind.

I've been scattered in pieces,

torn by conflict,

mocked by laughter,

washed down in drink.

In alleyways I sweep myself up

out of garbage and broken glass.

With my half-mouth I stammer you,

who are eternal in you symmetry.

I lift to you my half-hands

in wordless beseeching, that I may find again

the eyes with which I once beheld you.

I am a house gutted by fire

where only the guilty sometimes sleep

before the punishment that devours them

hounds them out into the open.

I am a city by the sea

sinking into a toxic tide.

I am strange to myself, as though someone unknown

had poisoned my mother as she carried me.

It's here in all the pieces of my shame

that now I find myself again.

I yearn to belong to something, to be contained

in an all-embracing mind that sees me

as a single thing.

I yearn to be held

in the great hands of your heart-

oh let them take me now.

Into them I place these fragments, my life,

and you, God- spend them however you want.

Losch mir die Augen aus: ich kann dich sehen

Extinguish my eyes, I'll go on seeing you.

Seal my ears, I'll go on hearing you.

And without feet I can make my way to you,

without a mouth I can swear your name.

Break off my arms, I'll take hold of you

with my heart as with a hand.

Stop my heart, and my brain will start to beat.

And if you consume my brain with fire,

I'll feel you burn in every drop of my blood.

In tiefen Nachten grab ich dich, du Schatz

In deep nights I dig for you like treasure.

For all I have seen

that clutters the surface of my world

is poor and paltry substitute

for the beauty of you

that has not happened yet.

My hands are bloody from digging.

I lift them, hold them open in the wind,

so they can branch like a tree.

Reaching, these hands would pull you out of the sky

as if you had shattered there,

dashed yourself to pieces in some wild impatience.

What is this I feel falling now,

falling on this parched earth,

softly,

like a spring rain?