Rainer Maria Rilke

(4 December 1875 – 29 December 1926 / Prague / Czech Republic)

Rainer Maria Rilke Poems

1. At The Brink Of Night 4/8/2015
2. Behind The Blameless Trees 3/2/2015
3. Falconry 4/3/2010
4. Growing Old 4/3/2010
5. The Song Of The Blindman 1/13/2003
6. The Song Of The Widow 1/13/2003
7. The Sonnets To Orpheus: Xxv 1/13/2003
8. The Blindman's Song 1/3/2003
9. The Sonnets To Orpheus: Iv 1/13/2003
10. The Song Of The Beggar 1/13/2003
11. My Life 4/3/2010
12. The Sonnets To Orpheus: Book 2: Vi 1/13/2003
13. The Neighbor 1/13/2003
14. Little Tear-Vase 1/13/2003
15. Palm 1/3/2003
16. The Sonnets To Orpheus: Book 2: Xxiii 1/13/2003
17. The Last Evening 1/13/2003
18. Song Of The Orphan 1/13/2003
19. Lady At A Mirror 1/13/2003
20. The Sonnets To Orpheus: Xix 1/13/2003
21. From The Tenth Elegy 1/13/2003
22. Spanish Dancer 1/13/2003
23. Venetian Morning 1/13/2003
24. For Hans Carossa 1/13/2003
25. Encounter In The Chestnut Avenue 1/13/2003
26. To Lou Andreas-Salome 1/13/2003
27. Losing 4/3/2010
28. Greek Love-Talk 1/3/2003
29. Night (O You Whose Countenance) 1/13/2003
30. Piano Practice 1/13/2003
31. Rememberance 1/13/2003
32. Self-Portrait 1/13/2003
33. Lady On A Balcony 1/13/2003
34. Parting 1/13/2003
35. The Sonnets To Orpheus: Book 2: I 1/13/2003
36. The Unicorn 1/3/2003
37. Eve 1/3/2003
38. Telling You All 1/3/2003
39. What Fields Are As Fragrant As Your Hands? 1/13/2003
40. In The Beginning 1/13/2003
Best Poem of Rainer Maria Rilke

A Walk

My eyes already touch the sunny hill.
going far ahead of the road I have begun.
So we are grasped by what we cannot grasp;
it has inner light, even from a distance-

and charges us, even if we do not reach it,
into something else, which, hardly sensing it,
we already are; a gesture waves us on
answering our own wave...
but what we feel is the wind in our faces.


Translated by Robert Bly

Read the full of A Walk

Archaic Torso Of Apollo

We cannot know his legendary head
with eyes like ripening fruit. And yet his torso
is still suffused with brilliance from inside,
like a lamp, in which his gaze, now turned to low,

gleams in all its power. Otherwise
the curved breast could not dazzle you so, nor could
a smile run through the placid hips and thighs
to that dark center where procreation flared.

[Hata Bildir]