How shall I hold on to my soul, so that
it does not touch yours? How shall I lift
it gently up over you on to other things?
I would so very much like to tuck it away
among long lost objects in the dark,
in some quiet, unknown place, somewhere
which remains motionless when your depths resound.
And yet everything which touches us, you and me,
takes us together like a single bow,
drawing out from two strings but one voice.
On which instrument are we strung?
And which violinist holds us in his hand?
O sweetest of songs.
'Love Song' Rainer Maria Rilke - from New Poems 1907 - 1908
Translated by Cliff Crego
'Portrait of a Girl (In thought)' circa 1876 - Pierre-Auguste Renoir
it does not touch yours? How shall I lift
it gently up over you on to other things?
I would so very much like to tuck it away
among long lost objects in the dark,
in some quiet, unknown place, somewhere
which remains motionless when your depths resound.
And yet everything which touches us, you and me,
takes us together like a single bow,
drawing out from two strings but one voice.
On which instrument are we strung?
And which violinist holds us in his hand?
O sweetest of songs.
'Love Song' Rainer Maria Rilke - from New Poems 1907 - 1908
Translated by Cliff Crego
'Portrait of a Girl (In thought)' circa 1876 - Pierre-Auguste Renoir
