You are not surprised at the force of the storm—you have seen it growing.
The trees flee before it, and their flight
sets the boulevards streaming. And you know
that she whom they flee is the one
you move toward. All your senses
sing her, as you stand at the window.
The weeks stood still in summer.
The trees' blood rose. Now you feel
it wants to sink back into
the source of everything. You thought
you could trust that power
when you plucked the fruit;
now it becomes a riddle again,
and you again a stranger.
Summer was like your house: you knew
where each thing stood.
Now you must go out into your heart
as onto a vast plain. Now
the immense loneliness begins.
The days go numb, the wind sucks the world
from your senses like withered leaves.
Through the empty branches the sky remains.
That stormy sky is what you have.
Be earth now, and evensong.
Be the ground lying under that sky.
Be modest now, like a thing
ripened until it is real,
so that she who began it all
can feel you when she reaches for you.
R.M. Rilke (from Rilke's Book of Hours: Love Poems to God)
5 comments:
Incredible photograph. Lovely poem. Thank you.
I'm trying again, Cate. For some whacky reason, Google/blogger won't accept my user name and password today. I'll e-mail this if it doesn't send this time.
Great poem to go with your incredible photo.
What a marvellous poem this is - and the photograph also. These words and thoughts really resonates with me.
Cate, is that YOUR photo? Holy cats!
And I can't believe I haven't read this poem (or at least, not remembered it)... thank you for sharing it with us, so fabulous.
Cate, You are sharing this poem at such a perfect moment for me. We are going through a bleak and difficult time in our community and this poem speaks of inner resiliance and connectedness, in a way that really resonates with me. Thank you.
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