/second elegy/
r.m.rilke/duino elegies

 

 

Every angel is terrible
And still, alas knowing all that
I serenade you
you almost deadly
birds of the soul.

Where are the days of Tobias
when one of these
brightest of creatures stood
at the simple front door
disguised a little for the trip
and not so frightening
(a young man like the one
who looked curiously out at him).

If the dangerous archangel
took one step now down toward us
from behind the stars
our heartbeats rising like thunder would kill us.

Who are you?
Creation's spoiled darlings
among the first to be perfect
a chain of mountains peaks and ridges
red in the morning light of all creation
the blossoming godhead's pollen
joints of pure light
corridors
staircases
thrones
pockets of essence
ecstasy shields
tumultuous storms of delightful feelings
then suddenly separate
mirrors gathering the beauty
that streamed away from them
back to their own faces again.

For as we feel
we evaporate
oh we breathe ourselves out and away
emberglow to emberglow
we give off a fainter smell.

It's true that someone
may say to us
"You're in my blood this room,
the spring is filling with you'...

What good is that?
he can't keep us
we vanish inside him
around him.
And the beautiful
oh who can hold them back?
It's endless:
appearance shines
from their faces
disappearing - like dew
rising from morning grass
we breathe away
what is ours
like steam from a hot dish.
Oh smile where are you going?
Oh lifted glance
new, warm receding wave of the heart
woe is me?
it's all of us.

Does the outer space
into which we dissolve
taste of us at all?
Do the angels absorb
only what's theirs
what streamed away from them
or do they sometimes get
as if by mistake
a little of our being too?
Are we mixed into
their features as slightly
as that vague look
in the faces of pregnant women?
In thier swirling
return to themselves
they don't notice it.
(How could they notice it?)

Lovers, if they knew how
might say strange things in the night air.
For it seems
that all things try,
to conceal us.
See, the trees are
and the houses we live in
still hold their own,
It's just we
who pass everything by
like air being traded for air.

And all things agree
to keep quiet about us
maybe half to shame us
and half from a hope they can't express.

Lovers, you who are
each other's satisfaction
I ask you about us.
You hold each other.
Does that settle it?
You see,
it sometimes happens
that my hands grow conscious of each other
or that my used face shelters itself within them.
That gives me a slight sensation.
But who'd claim from that,br> to exist?
You though who grow
by each other's ecstasy
until drowning you beg "no more!"
you who under each other's hands
become more abundant
like the grapes of great vintages
fading at times
but only because the other comletely takes over-
I ask you about us.
I know that touch is a blessing for you
because the caress lasts
because what you cover so tenderly does not disappear
because you can sense underneath the touch some kind of pure duration.
Somehow enternity almost seems possible as you embrace.
And yet when you've got past the fear in that first exchange of glances
the mooning at the window and that first walk together in the garden,br> one time:
lovers, are you the same?
When you lift each other to your lips mouth to mouth
drink to drink -
oh how oddly the drinker seems
to withdraw from the act of drinking.
Weren't you astonished
by the discretion of human gesture
on Attic grave steles?
Didn't love and parting sit so lightly
on shoulder that they seemed to be made of a substance
different from ours?
Do you recall how the hands rest
without any pressure
though there is great strength in the torsos?
Those figures spoke a language of self-mastery:
we've come to this point this is us
touching this way
the gods may push us around
but that is something for them to decide.

If only we too could discover an orchard
some pure, contained human, narrow strip of land
between river and rock.
For our own heart
outgrows us just as it did them
and we can't follow it
by gazing at pictures
that soothe it or at godlike bodies
that restrain it by their very size.

 

 

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(c)pillbox, 1996