Rainer Maria Rilke (1875-1926)
Don't you sense me, ready to break
into being at your touch?
My murmurings surround you like shadowy wings.
Can't you see me standing before you
cloaked in stillness?
Hasn't my longing ripened in you
from the beginning
as fruit ripens on the branch?
I am the dream you are dreaming.
When you want to awaken, I am waiting.
I grow strong in the beauty you behold.
And with the silence of stars I enfold
your cities made by time.
I don't read much poetry, as I prefer my poetry to have a beat I can dance to, generally. But Rilke I would love someday to set to music. And he wrote in German - I've a book at home with German and English on facing pages - and when I read the German out loud, I sound elegant to my own ears, at least. German is notorious for its gutterals and harsh consonants, but we all know that stereotype doesn't always ring true.
I remember before we left Franconia (a northern province of the old kingdom of Bavaria) in 2000 our children had taken up the local accent - Carol and I were students at the Augustana Hochschule, and as is characteristic of German higher education, the students there came from all over Germany, from Brazil, Tanzania, and even Japan. They necessarily spoke Hoch Deutsch, the German dialect common to all. But our children at the Kindergarten played with children from town, and their lilting, soft and musical Franconian accent was as sweet as anything I remember.
I can imagine Rilke talking in that same soft and lilting dialect or something like it. There is so much insight, so much grace in his words. Someday, I pray, if I read his words, think his thoughts, I'll maybe echo his language. Someday. It's worth thinking about on a cold Monday morning like this one.
