Photographic Journal: Path

PathA Walk
By Rainer Maria Rilke

My eyes already touch the sunny hill,
going far ahead of the road I have begun.
So we are grasped by what we cannot grasp;
it has its inner light, even from a distance—

and changes us, even if we do not reach it,
into something else, which, hardly sensing it, we already are;
a gesture waves us on, answering our own wave…
but what we feel is the wind in our faces.

8 thoughts on “Photographic Journal: Path

  1. Okay, andelieya, thanks for the tip :). I’ll google some of his stuff later today. To be sure, I’ll never read Rilke in English translation in quite the same way as a native German speaker might read the originals, but that’s no less true of Chinese (or Czech ;)) poetry in translation, and they have brought me pleasure enough over the years; there are some great translations out there :).

    1. Further to this, andelieya, I read through a number of Rilke’s poems on Poemhunter, and I found a couple that I like a lot, i.e. ‘The Swan’, and this one:

      Early Spring

      Harshness vanished. A sudden softness
      has replaced the meadows’ wintry grey.
      Little rivulets of water changed
      their singing accents. Tendernesses,

      hesitantly, reach toward the earth
      from space, and country lanes are showing
      these unexpected subtle risings
      that find expression in the empty trees.

      So, thanks for introducing me to his poetry :).

      1. Thanks for sharing the Rilke poem that you liked with me, yizhivika! Here is another beautiful poem by him:


        The sky puts on the darkening blue coat
        held for it by a row of ancient trees;
        you watch: and the lands grow distant in your sight,
        one journeying to heaven, one that falls;

        and leave you, not at home in either one,
        not quite so still and dark as the darkened houses,
        not calling to eternity with the passion of what becomes
        a star each night, and rises;

        and leave you (inexpressibly to unravel)
        your life, with its immensity and fear,
        so that, now bounded, now immeasurable,
        it is alternately stone in you and star.

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