Tuesday, November 23, 2010

You ride a bike and read Rilke so it's meant to be love.

I'm not the most avid poetry reader, but I think I read more than most people my age. I enjoy when the right poem falls into my lap and I get so incredibly caught up in it that I must read more of that author. To me, this is the best way to find a great writer.

My absolute favorite author is a German poet by the name of Rainer Maria Rilke. I cannot even remember the first time I heard of him, and I can't say that many people I have asked about him know very much (maybe I'm asking the wrong people), but oh he is wonderful! I cannot simply tell you how much I love him because I can't find the words, so instead I will let you read a little bit for yourself.

First, a quick passage from an essay by Rilke that I love...

"...Where is he among us who dare speak of love?

Verily, nature speaks not of love; nature bears it in her heart and none knows the heart of nature. Verily, God bears love in the world, yet the world overwhelms us. Verily, the mother speaks not of love, for it is borne for her within the child, and the child destroys it. Verily, the spirit speaks not of love, for the spirit thrusts it into the future, and the future is remote. Verily, the lover speaks not of love, for to the lover it comes in sorrow, and sorrow sheds tears."

Secondly, I share with you one that makes me giggle a little. This is a forewarning that it is a little sensual. Okay...fine, a lot. Although it is pretty in depth, I love that he was bold and brave enough to be so honest and pure in his poetry.

This is the fourth poem from the Seven Phallic Poems by Rilke.

You don't know towers, with your diffidence.
Yet now you'll become aware
of a tower in that wonderful rare
space in you. Hide your countenance.
You've erected it unsuspectingly,
by turn and glance and indirection,
and I, blissful one, am allowed entry.
Ah, how in there I am so tight.
Coax me to come forth to the summit:
so as to fling into your soft night,
with the soaring of a womb-dazzling rocket,
more feeling than I am quite.

And lastly, one of my favorites.

The Lovers by Rilke

See how in their veins all becomes spirit:
into each other they mature and grow.
Like axles, their forms tremblingly orbit,
round which it whirls, bewitching and aglow.
Thirsters, and they receive drink,
watchers, and see: they receive sight.
Let them into one another sink
so as to endure each other outright.

(...and cue the handsome gentleman, fellow lover of Rilke)

No comments:

Post a Comment