Rainer Maria Rilke

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

Comments about Rainer Maria Rilke

  • Susan Carr (10/4/2018 2:34:00 PM)

    I'm looking for a poem that includes the wonderful line: and God explodes from his hiding place.

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  • lilie (9/19/2018 11:34:00 AM)

    what is the Rilke poem about a couple in love but not totally blended....united but separated at the same time...

  • Eric Buttonwood (8/30/2018 4:11:00 AM)

    What is the Rilke poem about the old men of the sea who have survived manifestations of the feminine, harpies, gorgons, sirens, and now live crippled, defeated and in awe?

  • Charles (8/26/2018 9:21:00 PM)

    Liselotte, I think maybe God speaks to each of us is the one which you seek.

  • Houstonbob (8/2/2018 2:44:00 PM)

    does anyone have Rilke's poem, The Garden of Olives?

  • Liselotte (7/9/2018 12:50:00 PM)

    I am searching a poem of Rilke, wehre God spoke to the the soul, befor beeinflusst born

  • Ray A Burleigh (6/20/2018 3:05:00 PM)

    Thank you for having these gorgeous, sometimes indescribable poems here for us. He is trying for things just beyond our reach. What a magnificent heart! ! ! !

  • SOBHA (4/23/2018 1:17:00 AM)

    FEATURES OF RILKE'S POETRY

  • Catherine Clark (1/30/2018 3:40:00 PM)

    I am searching for Rainer Maria Rolke's beautiful poem written about the liquid-filled eyes of the dumb animals at the manger adoring the Christ child.

  • Greg Bell Greg Bell (4/16/2017 4:35:00 PM)

    An underappreciated artist of consummate skill. His Sonnets to Orpheus are sublime.

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

Abishag

I
She lay, and serving-men her lithe arms took,
And bound them round the withering old man,
And on him through the long sweet hours she lay,
And little fearful of his many years.

And many times she turned amidst his beard
Her face, as often as the night-owl screeched,
And all that was the night around them reached

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