As the hour bows down to touch me
My translation of Rilke’s first poem from The Book of Monastic Life. The original may be found here.
As the hour bows down to touch me
with a clear, metallic toll,
shaken by my senses, I feel, I can —
and I grasp the malleable day.
Nothing was complete before I saw it;
a particular, fixed becoming.
My glances are ripe, and to each,
like a bride, comes that for which he longs.
Nothing is too small for me, I love it nonetheless,
and paint it great and against a golden field,
and hold it high, and I do not know from whom
the soul is set free…
Image: Cologne Cathedral, by Barnaby Thieme.
Mesocosm 
I especially like:
. . . and I do not know from whom
the soul is set free. . .
Keep these translations coming, they are really fine
Anne Campbell
January 28, 2012 at 10:19 am