Wednesday, December 16, 2009

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?

2 comments:

Anonymous said...

Oooh, that's a good one. I was going to tell you my favorite part but then I kept finding more favorite parts - way too many to include in a comment. It reminds me of a beautifully crafted psalm, his desperation for God's presence, for God to know him as an individual - his angst mixed with, at the end there, a kind of peaceful resolve. It is a great poem to read on a cold and foggy December morning!

spike mason said...

Just thought I'd comment on your post - as I thought you might be interested that I've released an album called "Widening Circles". I have become totally smitten by Rilke and so the album features an english translation of a handful of the poems (including I am praying again) from the Book of Hours set to my compositions.
You can watch a short film of the recording process
here ==> http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MIkfYDRLuls
You can have a listen to the album to see if you like it
here ==> http://www.thepoatinatree.com.au
thanks
Spike