*The title is from Rainer Maria Rilke’s 1899 poem included in The Book of Hours. It is still the Easter season, so I chose something more devotional and mystical for a change.
Let’s begin with the original German version of Rilke’s poignant words:
Gott spricht zu jedem nur, eh er ihn macht,
dann geht er schweigend mit ihm aus der Nacht.
Aber die Worte, eh jeder beginnt,
diese wolkigen Worte, sind:
Von deinen Sinnen hinausgesandt,
geh bis an deiner Sehnsucht Rand;
gieb mir Gewand.
Hinter den Dingen wachse als Brand,
dass ihre Schatten, ausgespannt,
immer mich ganz bedecken.
Lass dir Alles geschehn: Schönheit und Schrecken.
Man muss nur gehn: Kein Gefühl ist das fernste.
Lass dich von mir nicht trennen.
Nah ist das Land,
das sie das Leben nennen.
Du wirst es erkennen
an seinem Ernste.
Gib mir die Hand.
04 Oktober 1899, Berlin- Schmargendorf
I have to admit that I first found one of the English translations and was so captivated by it that I simply had to look up the original version, only to discover that the translation I had found didn’t do it due justice. I have long been a follower of Rilke, enthralled by the intricate interweaving of devotional and mysticism in all his works. So I sat down and re-translated the poem, linguistic snob that I am, bearing in mind that this entire collection of poems were written as meditative and prayerful pieces, using imagery of St. Francis and incorporating orthodox Christian influences after having visited Ukraine. Here is my translation:
God speaks to each before the soul is whole,
then walks us silently out of the dark.
But deep and clouded, words arise —
before the first breath, before the spark:
Sent forth by your senses,
go to the edge of your longing.
Let your soul be my form.
Grow behind things as flame,
that the shadows they cast
may carry my name.
Let all things happen—beauty and dread.
Walk the path you must: no feeling is misled.
Stray not from me.
The land they call life
is not far to stride.
You will know it
by its earnestness.
Give me your hand.
04 October 1899, Berlin-Schmargendorf
I’m no poet, but I do connect with the theology and layers of divinity that Rilke intended, which many of the translations don’t. Each stanza should be honoured with a pause, silent meditation, and reverence for life, for as Rilke points out, “Let all things happen – beauty and dread”.
So I invite you to do just that, and may you find “the edge of your longing” in the silence.
FrogDiva Thoughts 