Exposed on the cliffs of the heart. Look, how tiny down there,
look: the last village of words and, higher,
(but how tiny) still one last
farmhouse of feeling. Can you see it?
Exposed on the cliffs of the heart. Stoneground
under your hands. Even here, though,
something can bloom; on a silent cliff-edge
an unknowing plant blooms, singing, into the air.
But the one who knows? Ah, he began to know
and is quiet now, exposed on the cliffs of the heart.
While, with their full awareness,
many sure-footed mountain animals pass
or linger. And the great sheltered birds flies, slowly
circling, around the peak's pure denial. - But
without a shelter, here on the cliffs of the heart...
This is one of the things I love about writing- - there are those who find new and imaginative and heart-touching ways to communicate universal topics like love. How many great poems about love there are and they still manage to transmit their emotions in such a wealth of experiencesm 10000000000000000000000 of course
Rilke was indeed a great poet. As witnessed in this marvelous poem.
Please... please read this and give me the name of the translator. I have been looking for, for twenty years!