I want my own will, and I want
simply to be with my will,
as it goes toward action.
And in the silent, sometimes hardly moving times,
when something is coming near,
I want to be with those who know
secret things or else alone...
I want to unfold.
I don’t want to be folded anywhere,
because where I am folded,
there I am a lie.
And we, spectators always, everywhere,
looking at, never out of, everything!
It fills us. We arrange it. It collapses.
We re-arrange it, and collapse ourselves.
Who's turned us round like this, so that we always,
do what we may, retain the attitude
of someone who's departing? Just as he,
on the last hill, that shows him all his valley
for the last time, will turn and stop and linger,
we live our lives, for ever taking leave.
Mots clés life
What an unilateral life, when from the material of a renunciation, we must fashion something we love.
Rainer Maria RilkeMots clés acceptance resignation
Seele im Raum
Hier bin ich, hier bin ich, Entrungene,
taumelnd.
Wag ichs denn? Werf ich mich?
Fähige waren schon viel
dort, wo ich drängte. Nun wo
auch noch die Mindesten restlos Macht vollziehn,
schweigend vor Meisterschaft —:
Wag ichs denn ? Werf ich mich?
Zwar ich ertrug, vom befangenen Körper aus,
Nächte; ja, ich befreundete
ihn, den irdenen, mit der Unendlichkeit;
schluchzend
überfloß, das ich hob,
sein schmuckloses Herz.
Aber nun, wem zeig ichs,
daß ich die Seele bin? Wen
wunderts?
Plötzlich soll ich die Ewige sein,
nicht mehr am Gegensatz haftend, nicht mehr
Trösterin; fühlend mit nichts als
Himmeln.
Kaum noch geheim;
denn unter den offenen
allen Geheimnissen eines,
ein ängstliches.
O wie durchgehn sich die großen Umarmungen. Welche
wird mich umfangen, welche mich weiter
geben, mich, linkisch
Umarmende?
Oder vergaß ich und kanns?
Vergaß den erschöpflichen Aufruhr
jener Schwerliebenden? Staun',
stürze aufwärts und kanns?
Go into yourself and test the deeps in which your life takes rise; at its source you will find the answer to the question whether you must create. Accept it, just as it sounds, without inquiring into it. Perhaps it will turn out that you are called to be an artist. Then take that destiny upon yourself and bear it, its burden and its greatness, without ever asking what reward might come from outside
Rainer Maria RilkeIn the deepest hour of the night, confess to yourself that you would die if you were forbidden to write. And look deep into your heart where it spreads its roots, the answer, and ask yourself, must I write?
Rainer Maria RilkeMots clés inspirational art on-writing destiny
But this is what ... people are so often and disastrously wrong in doing: they (who by their very nature are impatient) fling themselves at each other when love takes hold of them, they scatter themselves, just as they are, in all their messiness, disorder, bewilderment ...
And what can happen then? What can life do with this heap of half broken things that they would like to call their happiness, and their futures?
And so each of them loses himself to the other for the sake of the other person, and loses the other. And loses the vast possibilities ... in exchange for an unfruitful confusion, out of which nothing more can come, nothing but a bit of disgust, disappointment and poverty.
I am too alone in the world, and yet not alone enough
to make every moment holy.
I am too tiny in this world, and not tiny enough
just to lie before you like a thing,
shrewd and secretive.
I want my own will, and I want simply to be with my will,
as it goes toward action;
and in those quiet, sometimes hardly moving times,
when something is coming near,
I want to be with those who know secret things
or else alone.
I want to be a mirror for your whole body,
and I never want to be blind, or to be too old
to hold up your heavy and swaying picture.
I want to unfold.
I don’t want to stay folded anywhere,
because where I am folded, there I am a lie.
and I want my grasp of things to be
true before you. I want to describe myself
like a painting that I looked at
closely for a long time,
like a saying that I finally understood,
like the pitcher I use every day,
like the face of my mother,
like a ship
that carried me
through the wildest storm of all.
Mots clés poetry solitude growth
Wie hab ich das gefühlt was Abschied heißt.
Wie weiß ichs noch: ein dunkles unverwundnes
grausames etwas, das ein Schönverbundnes
noch einmal zeigt und hinhält und zerreißt.
Where something becomes extremely difficult and unbearable, there we also stand already quite near its transformation.
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