Rainer Maria Rilke

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

Rainer Maria Rilke Poems

41. The Sonnets To Orpheus: Book 2: I 1/13/2003
42. Rememberance 1/13/2003
43. In The Beginning 1/13/2003
44. Piano Practice 1/13/2003
45. God Speaks To Each Of Us 4/3/2010
46. Night (O You Whose Countenance) 1/13/2003
47. Water Lily 1/13/2003
48. Lament 1/3/2003
49. Portrait Of My Father As A Young Man 1/3/2003
50. Greek Love-Talk 1/3/2003
51. Telling You All 1/3/2003
52. Lament (Whom Will You Cry To, Heart?) 1/13/2003
53. The Sonnets To Orpheus: I 1/13/2003
54. Elegy X 1/3/2003
55. Put Out My Eyes 1/3/2003
56. The Spanish Dancer 1/3/2003
57. Ignorant Before The Heavens Of My Life 1/3/2003
58. To Music 1/13/2003
59. The Wait 1/13/2003
60. The Poet 1/3/2003
61. The Voices 1/13/2003
62. The Sonnets To Orpheus: Book 2: Xiii 1/13/2003
63. Night (This Night, Agitated By The Growing Storm) 1/13/2003
64. Song 1/13/2003
65. The Grown-Up 1/13/2003
66. Narcissus 1/3/2003
67. For Hans Carossa 1/13/2003
68. Girl's Lament 1/13/2003
69. Song Of The Sea 1/13/2003
70. Going Blind 1/3/2003
71. Sense Of Something Coming 1/13/2003
72. Adam 1/3/2003
73. Slumber Song 1/13/2003
74. Fire's Reflection 1/13/2003
75. The Future 1/13/2003
76. A Sybil 4/3/2010
77. Fall Day 1/3/2003
78. Evening 1/13/2003
79. To Say Before Going To Sleep 1/3/2003
80. Elegy I 1/3/2003

Comments about Rainer Maria Rilke

  • Fabrizio Frosini Fabrizio Frosini (12/4/2015 11:14:00 AM)

    The Song of the Dwarf

    Maybe my soul is straight and good,
    but she's got to lug my heart, my blood,
    which all hurts because it's crooked;
    its weight sends her staggering.
    She has no bed, she has no home,
    she merely hangs on my sharp bones,
    flapping her terrible wings.

    And my hands are completely shot,
    shriveled, worn: here, take a look
    at how they clammily, clumsily hop
    like rain-crazed toads.
    As for all the other stuff,
    it's all used up and sad and old—
    why doesn't God haul me out to the muck
    and let me drop.

    Is it because of my mug
    with its frowning mouth?
    So often I would itch
    to be luminous and free of fog
    but nothing would approach
    except big dogs.
    And the dogs got zilch.

    (Rainer Maria Rilke)

    294 person liked.
    4 person did not like.
  • Elise Stettner (7/12/2014 8:16:00 AM)

    I am searching for the poem by M. R. Rilke in which he speaks about pushing thru solid rock.

  • David Creasor (8/22/2013 3:10:00 PM)

    Hi guys, I am reading a Portuguese translation from a poem that I know was written by Rainer Maria Rilke, unfortunately the title is missing. Do any of you know which poem starts something like Nothing is comparable. maybe there is something

    Thanks in advance for any help

  • Valerie Harms (4/14/2012 11:43:00 AM)

    does anyone have those lines by Rilke where he is sitting in the rich darkness expectant about the light coming?

  • Mardia Parker (3/3/2010 6:30:00 AM)

    Trying to confirm a poem or quote that is attributed to Rilke: 'In love, practice only this: letting each other go. Holding on comes easily, we don't need to learn it. Practice letting go.'

  • Jay Warier (7/19/2009 11:20:00 AM)

    'Again and Again' I reread after 25 years today. Kept me entranced again. Time has not taken any of Rilke's charm away.

  • Sinnaminsun Sinnaminsun (7/15/2005 8:55:00 PM)

    Rainer Maria Rilke is my favorite poet. Upon hearing his poem, 'The Panther' I became breathless, emotional and was totally captivated by it. Every time I hear or reread that poem I am totally mesmerized by his skill.

  • Justaname Parer (5/14/2005 5:34:00 AM)

    'Autumn' is such a beautiful poem in German. Its worth reading out loud even if you don't understand all the words. All you need to remember is to pronounce the German W as an English V, the German V as an English F, and the German letter ä sounds like 'eh' or 'air' (with no R sound at the end) .

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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