Literature

Rilke Writes Pimples

Once upon a time, I was this pimple-faced creative writing student who loved rilke. just minutes ago, I rekindled the very same love after chancing upon his poem in the net that I first read when I was this pimple-faced creative writing student. Of course, it rekindled, some long-forgotten emotions, too…

You who never arrived
in my arms, Beloved, who were lost
from the start,
I don’t even know what songs
would please you. I have given up trying
to recognize you in the surging wave of the next
moment. All the immense
image in me-the far-off, deeply-felt landscape,
cities, towers, and bridges, and un-
suspected turns in the path,
and thos powerful lands that were once
pulsing with the life of the gods-
all rise within me to mean
you, who forever elude me.

You, Beloved, who are all
the gardens I have ever gazed at,
longing. An open window
in a country house-, and you almost
steeped out, pensive, to meet me. Streets that I chanced upon,-
you had just walked down them and vanished.
And sometimes, in a shop, the mirrors
were still dizzy with your presence and startled, gave back
my too-sudden image. Who knows? Perhaps the same
bird echoed through both of us
yesterday, separate, in the evening…

-Rainer Maria Rilke

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