Though lately the pictures of the mountain I keep putting up here have been form the time of day when the light is the clearest and the brightest, my words in these posts have been dwindling, much like the hours of daylight with summer’s near end. Since I am out of fresh words of my own, I’ll turn to the wordy treasures of others, choosing this Rilke sonnet to Orpheus to share today:
Call me to the one among your moments
that stands against you, ineluctably:
intimate as a dog’s imploring glance
but, again, forever, turned away
when you think you’ve captured it at last.
What seems so far from you is most your own.
We are already free, and were dismissed
where we thought we soon would be at home.
Anxious, we keep longing for a foothold–
we, at times too young for what is old
and too old for what has never been;
doing justice only where we praise,
because we are the branch, the iron blade,
and sweet danger, ripening from within.
–from “The Sonnets to Orpheus,” by Rainer Maria Rilke, translated by Stephen Mitchell