Rainer Maria Rilke

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

What Birds Plunge Through Is Not The Intimate Space - Poem by Rainer Maria Rilke

What birds plunge through is not the intimate space,
in which you see all Forms intensified.
(In the Open, denied, you would lose yourself,
would disappear into that vastness.)

Space reaches from us and translates Things:
to become the very essence of a tree,
throw inner space around it, from that space
that lives in you. Encircle it with restraint.
It has no limits. For the first time, shaped
in your renouncing, it becomes fully tree.


Submitted and Translated by Gabriel Caffrey


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Read poems about / on: tree, time, lost



Poem Submitted: Monday, January 13, 2003



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