We never knew his fantastic head,
where eyes like apples ripened. Yet
his torso, like a lamp, still glows
with his gaze which, although turned down low,lingers and shines. Else the prow of his breast
couldn't dazzle you, nor in the slight twist
of his loins could a smile run free
through that center which held fertility.Else this stone would stand defaced and squat
under the shoulders' diaphanous dive
and not glisten like a predator's coat;and not from every edge explode
like starlight: for there's not one spot
that doesn't see you. You must change your life
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Archaischer Torso Apollos
Wir kannten nicht sein unerhörtes Haupt,
darin die Augenäpfel reiften. Aber
sein Torso glüht noch wie ein Kandelaber,
in dem sein Schauen, nur zurückgeschraubt,sich hält und glänzt. Sonst könnte nicht der Bug
der Brust dich blenden, und im leisen Drehen
der Lenden könnte nicht ein Lächeln gehen
zu jener Mitte, die die Zeugung trug.Sonst stünde dieser Stein enstellt und kurz
unter der Shultern durchsichtigem Sturz
und flimmerte nicht so wie Raubtierfelle;und brächte nicht aus allen seinen Rändern
aus wie ein Stern: denn da ist keine Stelle,
die dich nicht sieht. Du mußt dein Leben ändern
Friday, April 22, 2011
Archaic Torso of Apollo, by Rainer Maria Rilke
Monday, April 18, 2011
Maya Angelou, Inaugural Poem, 1993
A Rock, A River, A Tree Hosts to species long since departed, Marked the mastodon. The dinosaur, who left dry tokens But today, the Rock cries out to us, clearly, forcefully, I will give you no more hiding place down here. You, created only a little lower than Your mouths spilling words The Rock cries out today, you may stand on me, Across the wall of the world, Each of you a bordered country, Your armed struggles for profit Yet, today I call you to my riverside, Clad in peace and I will sing the songs Before cynicism was a bloody sear across your The River sings and sings on. There is a true yearning to respond to So say the Asian, the Hispanic, the Jew Today, the first and last of every Tree Plant yourself beside me, here beside the River. Each of you, descendant of some passed You, who gave me my first name, you You, the Turk, the Swede, the German, the Scot ... Here, root yourselves beside me. I am the Tree planted by the River, I, the Rock, I the River, I the Tree Lift up your faces, you have a piercing need History, despite its wrenching pain, Lift up your eyes upon Give birth again Women, children, men, Mold it into the shape of your most Do not be wedded forever The horizon leans forward, No less to Midas than the mendicant. No less to you now than the mastodon then. Here on the pulse of this new day |