wrdeer

Archive for October, 2010|Monthly archive page

Defending language or simply avoiding understanding? #sixwords Grammar matters but meaning matters more | Stephen Fry-Language

In Uncategorized on October 22, 2010 at 2:14 pm

(Rilke redux) I live my life in growing rings…

In Uncategorized on October 19, 2010 at 9:30 pm
An admittedly not very accurate but personal translation of the German classic by Rainer Maria Rilke

I live my life in growing rings
That reach across this world of things
I may not complete the final circuit, 
but I give myself to it. 

I circle God the primordial tower
As i've circled for a thousand years;
In mystery without knowing: 

Am I 
        a hunting bird, 
                                 the tempest 
        or a great and echoing song.

Note: I'm not a German speaker so this translation was aimed at getting the feel of the poem  – all you Deutschländer's out there please forgive the licence taken. 

Ich lebe mein Leben in wachsenden Ringen

Ich lebe mein Leben in wachsenden Ringen,
die sich über die Dinge ziehn.
Ich werde den letzten vielleicht nicht vollbringen,
aber versuchen will ich ihn.

Ich kreise um Gott, um den uralten Turm,
und ich kreise jahrtausendelang;
und ich weiß noch nicht: bin ich ein Falke, ein Sturm
oder ein großer Gesang.

– Rainer Maria Rilke

Rilke’s “for the sake of a single poem”

In Uncategorized on October 19, 2010 at 8:40 pm
…Ah, poems amount to so little when you write them to early in your life. You ought to wait and gather sense and sweetness for a whole lifetime, and a long one if possible, and then, at the very end, you might perhaps be able to write ten good lines. 

For poems are not, as people think, simply emotions (one has emotions early enough) – they are experiences. For the sake of a single poem, you must see many cities, many people and Things, you must understand animals, must feel how birds fly, and knows the gesture which small flowers make when they open in the morning. You must be able to think back to streets in unknown neighborhoods, to unexpected encounters, and to partings you had long seen coming; to days of childhood whose mystery is still unexplained, to parents whom you had to hurt when they brought in a joy and you didn't pick it up (it was a joy meant for somebody else-); to childhood illnesses that began so strangely with so many profound and difficult transformations, to days in quiet, restrained rooms and to mornings by the sea, to the sea itself, to seas, to nights of travel that rushed along high overhead and went flying with all the star's, – and it is still not enough to be able to think of all that. You must have memories of many nights of love, each one different from all the others, memories of women screaming in labor, and of light, pale, sleeping girls who have just given birth and are closing again. But you must also have been beside the dying, must have sat beside the dead in the room with the open window and scattered noises. And it is not yet enough to have memories. You must be able to forget them when they are many, and you must have the immense patience to wait until they return. For the memories themselves are not important. Only when they have changed into our very blood, into glance and gesture, and are nameless, no longer to be distinguished from ourselves – only then can it happen that in some very rare hour the first word of a poem arises in their midst and goes forth from them."

Let a child touch the stars #sixwords Home-made spacecraft

In Uncategorized on October 18, 2010 at 6:52 pm

Yours Alone #poetry

In Uncategorized on October 15, 2010 at 7:03 pm
I will hold you lightly in gentle hands
I will touch you deeply with words and deeds
I will stir your soul with my own
I will kiss you and sweep you up and so much more
The choice is yours if you consent

I will be yours and yours alone

Bubbling uncatchable spilled words, still becoming #sixwords Without speech ~ Deaf man mouthing sound #poetry

In Uncategorized on October 13, 2010 at 10:30 am
You talk of poetry but without a poets soul
Sharp lines, rigid divisions
You don't know from whence it springs ~ Bubbling uncatchable spilled words, still becoming

You only guess at it 
Without speech ~ Deaf man mouthing sound