~ Last Kiss
i was texting Rilke
)with the right of way
i might add(
but Demosthenes refused to yield
& at the moment of impact
i suffered an epiphany:
“a god can do it.
but tell me.
how can a man follow him
through the lyre’s strings?
his soul is split.
and at the intersection
of two heart-riven roads,
there is no temple to Apollo.
song, as you have taught,
is not mere longing,
the wooing of whatever lovely
can be attained;
singing is being.
easy for a god.
but when are we?
and when does he fill us
with earth and stars?”
yes,
last kisses,
hemingway’s big two-hearted river,
frost’s roads diverging in a yellow wood,
rilke’s heart-riven roads:
it’s all an accident waiting to happen.
from “Gesang ist Dasein”
by Rainer Maria Rilke
translated by William Gass
www.youtube.com/watch?v=bh4se9YMV3A
in the end
the jihadists
be they muslim, christian or jewish
or some lesser brand
will annihilate the world
and with it
all conscious thought;
once again
the world will fall asleep
beneath the ocean
with the buddhas,
beneath the ocean
about which Neruda spoke:
… una orilla,
es allí donde azota
el mar con furia
y las olas golpean
los muros de ceniza.
¿qué es esto?
¿es una sombra?
no es la sombra,
es la arena de la triste república,
es un sistema de algas,
hay alas,
hay un picotazo en el pecho del cielo:
oh manantial del mar,
si la lluvia asegura tus secretos,
si el viento interminable mata los pájaros,
si solamente el cielo,
sólo quiero morder tus costas y morirme,
sólo quiero mirar la boca de las piedras
por donde los secretos
salen llenos de espuma.
…
es una región sola
…
donde la tierra está llena de océano,
y no hay nadie
sino unas huellas de caballo,
no hay nadie
sino el viento
no hay nadie
sino la lluvia
que cae sobre las aguas del mar,
nadie sino la lluvia que crece
sobre el mar.
a place where with fury
the sea lashes the shore
and the waves strike
the ashen walls.
what is this?
is it a shadow?
it is not the shadow,
it is the ground rock
of a sad republic,
a system of seaweed,
there are wings,
there is the pecking
at the heart of the sky:
oh waters wounded by the waves,
oh fountain of the sea,
as if the rain assures your secrets,
as if the unrelenting wind kills the birds,
if only the sky …
i alone wish to bite your coasts and die,
i alone wish to gaze into the mouths of the stones,
through which emerge
the secrets full of foam
…
it is a lonely region
…
where the earth
is overwhelmed by the ocean
and there is no one
only hoof prints,
there is no one
but the wind,
there is no one
but the rain that falls over the waters of the sea,
no one but the rain
that swells above the sea.
~ Last Kiss
i was texting Rilke
)with the right of way
i might add(
but Demosthenes refused to yield
& at the moment of impact
i suffered an epiphany:
“a god can do it.
but tell me.
how can a man follow him
through the lyre’s strings?
his soul is split.
and at the intersection
of two heart-riven roads,
there is no temple to Apollo.
song, as you have taught,
is not mere longing,
the wooing of whatever lovely
can be attained;
singing is being.
easy for a god.
but when are we?
and when does he fill us
with earth and stars?”
yes,
last kisses,
hemingway’s big two-hearted river,
frost’s roads diverging in a yellow wood,
rilke’s heart-riven roads:
it’s all an accident waiting to happen.
from “Gesang ist Dasein”
by Rainer Maria Rilke
translated by William Gass
www.youtube.com/watch?v=bh4se9YMV3A
in the end
the jihadists
be they muslim, christian or jewish
or some lesser brand
will annihilate the world
and with it
all conscious thought;
once again
the world will fall asleep
beneath the ocean
with the buddhas,
beneath the ocean
about which Neruda spoke:
… una orilla,
es allí donde azota
el mar con furia
y las olas golpean
los muros de ceniza.
¿qué es esto?
¿es una sombra?
no es la sombra,
es la arena de la triste república,
es un sistema de algas,
hay alas,
hay un picotazo en el pecho del cielo:
oh manantial del mar,
si la lluvia asegura tus secretos,
si el viento interminable mata los pájaros,
si solamente el cielo,
sólo quiero morder tus costas y morirme,
sólo quiero mirar la boca de las piedras
por donde los secretos
salen llenos de espuma.
…
es una región sola
…
donde la tierra está llena de océano,
y no hay nadie
sino unas huellas de caballo,
no hay nadie
sino el viento
no hay nadie
sino la lluvia
que cae sobre las aguas del mar,
nadie sino la lluvia que crece
sobre el mar.
a place where with fury
the sea lashes the shore
and the waves strike
the ashen walls.
what is this?
is it a shadow?
it is not the shadow,
it is the ground rock
of a sad republic,
a system of seaweed,
there are wings,
there is the pecking
at the heart of the sky:
oh waters wounded by the waves,
oh fountain of the sea,
as if the rain assures your secrets,
as if the unrelenting wind kills the birds,
if only the sky …
i alone wish to bite your coasts and die,
i alone wish to gaze into the mouths of the stones,
through which emerge
the secrets full of foam
…
it is a lonely region
…
where the earth
is overwhelmed by the ocean
and there is no one
only hoof prints,
there is no one
but the wind,
there is no one
but the rain that falls over the waters of the sea,
no one but the rain
that swells above the sea.