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magicicadajust about every year about this time, i post a poem by Rainier Maria Rilke. it's not a particularly happy poem, but to me it captures the angst of the end of summer and the growing cold rather well. last year was different, i was eagerly awaiting winter when my baby would be here. and now this year, i can't wait to show her the changing leaves and to reintroduce her to the season in which she had her start. therefore, i think it is especially ironic, that while lazily searching the net for 'my poem', i found another poem about autumn by rilke. the second seems to fit this autumn better although i do not believe in a higher being, the hope fits.
Autumn Day
Lord: it is time. The huge summer has gone by.
Now overlap the sundials with your shadows,
and on the meadows let the wind go free.
Command the fruits to swell on tree and vine;
grant them a few more warm transparent days,
urge them on to fulfillment then, and press
the final sweetness into the heavy wine.
Whoever has no house now, will never have one.
Whoever is alone will stay alone,
will sit, read, write long letters through the evening,
and wander on the boulevards, up and down,
restlessly, while the dry leaves are blowing.
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Autumn [1]
The leaves are falling, falling as if from afar,
as if orchards were dying far in space.
with nay-saying gestures they fall.
And in the night falls the heavy earth
from all the stars into loneliness.
We are all falling. This hand there falls.
And look at the other: It's in them all.
And yet there is one, who holds all this
falling with infinite gentleness in his hands.
-Rainier Maria Rilke
-jenn
[1] forgive me, i have merged translations. i do not have this one in hardcopy, and not being sure which one is 'right' i am combining to suit my own purposes.
Autumn Day
Lord: it is time. The huge summer has gone by.
Now overlap the sundials with your shadows,
and on the meadows let the wind go free.
Command the fruits to swell on tree and vine;
grant them a few more warm transparent days,
urge them on to fulfillment then, and press
the final sweetness into the heavy wine.
Whoever has no house now, will never have one.
Whoever is alone will stay alone,
will sit, read, write long letters through the evening,
and wander on the boulevards, up and down,
restlessly, while the dry leaves are blowing.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------
Autumn [1]
The leaves are falling, falling as if from afar,
as if orchards were dying far in space.
with nay-saying gestures they fall.
And in the night falls the heavy earth
from all the stars into loneliness.
We are all falling. This hand there falls.
And look at the other: It's in them all.
And yet there is one, who holds all this
falling with infinite gentleness in his hands.
-Rainier Maria Rilke
-jenn
[1] forgive me, i have merged translations. i do not have this one in hardcopy, and not being sure which one is 'right' i am combining to suit my own purposes.