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Duino Elegies
We have a marvelous, almost legendary image of the circumstances in which the composition of this great poem began. Rainer Maria Rilke was staying at Duino Castle, on a rocky headland of the Adriatic Sea near Trieste. One morning he walked out onto the battlements and climbed down to where the cliffs dropped sharply to the sea. From out of the fierce wind, Rilke seemed to hear a voice: Wer, wenn ich schriee, horte mich denn aus der Engel Ordnungen? (If I cried out, who would hear me up there, among the angelic orders?). He wrote these words, the opening of the first Duino Elegy, in his notebook, then went inside to continue what was to be his major opus—completely only after another ten, tormented years of effort—and one of the literary masterpieces of the century. Duino Elegies speaks in a voice that is both intimate and majestic on the mysteries of human life and our attempt, in the words of the translator David Young, “to use our self-consciousness to some advantage: to transcend, through art and the imagination, our self-deception and our fear.”
204 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1922
About the author
Rainer Maria Rilke
1,569 books6,280 followersA mystic lyricism and precise imagery often marked verse of German poet Rainer Maria Rilke, whose collections profoundly influenced 20th-century German literature and include
The Book of Hours
(1905) and
The Duino Elegies
(1923).
People consider him of the greatest 20th century users of the language.
His haunting images tend to focus on the difficulty of communion with the ineffable in an age of disbelief, solitude, and profound anxiety — themes that tend to position him as a transitional figure between the traditional and the modernist poets.
His two most famous sequences include the Sonnets to Orpheus , and his most famous prose works include the Letters to a Young Poet and the semi-autobiographical The Notebooks of Malte Laurids Brigge .
He also wrote more than four hundred poems in French, dedicated to the canton of Valais in Switzerland, his homeland of choice.
People consider him of the greatest 20th century users of the language.
His haunting images tend to focus on the difficulty of communion with the ineffable in an age of disbelief, solitude, and profound anxiety — themes that tend to position him as a transitional figure between the traditional and the modernist poets.
His two most famous sequences include the Sonnets to Orpheus , and his most famous prose works include the Letters to a Young Poet and the semi-autobiographical The Notebooks of Malte Laurids Brigge .
He also wrote more than four hundred poems in French, dedicated to the canton of Valais in Switzerland, his homeland of choice.
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 631 reviews
September 20, 2023
“The Duino Elegies” is undoubtedly his masterpiece.
This collection underlines the human creature’s distress, who feels like a stranger in a world abandoned by the beauty and the sacred.
Haunted by the flight of time and death, she cannot fully participate in the universal life.
In these conditions, the poet’s role is essential: he must endeavor to account for this outpouring of existence. The grasp alone can push back the anguish.
Rilke extends this reflection in Sonnets to Orpheus, where he magnifies death by celebrating the memory of a young girl who died at nineteen.
This reflection on death thus alleviates anxiety and releases the jubilation one must feel to be in the world.
This collection underlines the human creature’s distress, who feels like a stranger in a world abandoned by the beauty and the sacred.
Haunted by the flight of time and death, she cannot fully participate in the universal life.
In these conditions, the poet’s role is essential: he must endeavor to account for this outpouring of existence. The grasp alone can push back the anguish.
Rilke extends this reflection in Sonnets to Orpheus, where he magnifies death by celebrating the memory of a young girl who died at nineteen.
This reflection on death thus alleviates anxiety and releases the jubilation one must feel to be in the world.
October 8, 2013
In "Duino Elegies" it seems as if Rilke is explaining the meaning of his life indirectly to God through divine messengers the presence of whom we can scarcely sense.
The 10 elegies succeed in finding the world in a word, as William H. Gass advised was the objective of the most earnest poets. Rilke's greatness emanates from his fearlessness in taking on an epic macro-perspective. He is, after all, peering out into the universe and hearing the whispers of angels to inspire him:
"Who, if I cried out, would hear me among the Angelic
Orders? and what if one of them would suddenly
take me to his heart."
Rilke in the First Elegy goes on to say that "Beauty is nothing else but the beginning of terror, which we are just able to bear and we are stunned by it because it so serenely disdains to destroy us."
This is fairly bold, even daunting positioning for a poet and Rilke means to attack the big stuff. He is grand like Faust addressing Mephistopheles. Or Milton in "Paradise Lost." Or Dante in "Inferno."
Rilke's poetry is rich and densely packed with meaning. His elegies are epic in his perspective of the universe but there is a relative brevity compared to epic poets who take on the universe in lengthy discourse.
It is perhaps the height of optimism that Rilke believes he can directly confront the meaning of the universe from a castle near Trieste, where Joyce also wrote, on the Adriatic Sea under the auspices of a patron in Marie Von Thurn und Taxis-Hohenlohe over four months.
But the muse does come speaking in the undertones of summoned angels and Rilke listens attuned to their whispers to build in the divine dialogue an opus magnus from the turrets and towers of the castle walls.
In the Second Elegy he writes:
"Each angel is terrifying. And, alas, even though I know
about you, almost deadly birds of the soul, I still invoke you."
Some truly intriguing questions are framed from Rilke's discourse among the angels:
"Does then the cosmic space
into which we dissolve, taste of us? Do the Angels
really hold only that which spring from them,
or do they, at times, as if by oversight, enfold unto themselves
a hint of our being as well?"
In the Fourth Elegy he invokes the images of puppetry as he sits before the stage:
"An angel has to come, take part, and draw the puppets up high.
Angel and puppet: at last there is a real play."
In the Seventh Elegy we find that Rilke is taking on the Zeitgeist, the spirit of time:
"Do not believe that destiny is more than a summing up of childhood...
The Zeitgeist builds vast reservoirs of power for itself, shapeless
as the tense urge that it extracts from all things.
He no longer recognizes temples. We are secretly hoarding these extravagances of the heart."
In the Eighth Elegy he speaks more of destiny:
"That's what destiny is: to oppose
and nothing but that, and forever to oppose...
And we: spectators, always, everywhere,
turned toward everything and never outward.
It overfills us. We arrange it. It falls apart.
We rearrange it and we, ourselves, fall apart."
A favorite few lines emerges from this elegy by Rilke:
"Who, then, has turned us around like this, that we,
whatever we do, appear like someone about
to depart? So much like the man on the final hill
that shows him his whole valley for one last time,
who turns, and stops there, lingering-,
this, then, is how we live, forever taking our leave."
In the Ninth Elegy he has advice for us when we address the angels and God:
"Praise the world to the Angel, not the unspeakable one, you
can't impress him with grand emotion: in the Universe,
where he feels so intensely, you are only a beginner. So show
him simplicity, shaped from generation to generation,
that is ours and lives near our hands and within our sight.
Tell him things. He will stand amazed...
Look, I live. On what? Neither childhood nor future
grows less... A surfeit of being
wells up in my heart."
The final elegy deals with a woman named Lament:
"That some day, emerging from the grim vision,
I might sing jubilation and praise to assenting Angels.
That of the clear striking hammers of my heart
no one would fail me from slack wavering or
broken strings. That my weeping face would
make me more radiant; that my trivial tears might flower...
We were, she says, a great race once."
I urge you to take on Rilke's "Duino Elegies" and to read it slowly and linger on every radiant word: this is the really good stuff.
Are we all no less than Rilke in his castle by the sea seeking to make sense of the tumult of the universe in dialogue with our own angels?
The translation by Leslie P. Gartner is inspiring.
The 10 elegies succeed in finding the world in a word, as William H. Gass advised was the objective of the most earnest poets. Rilke's greatness emanates from his fearlessness in taking on an epic macro-perspective. He is, after all, peering out into the universe and hearing the whispers of angels to inspire him:
"Who, if I cried out, would hear me among the Angelic
Orders? and what if one of them would suddenly
take me to his heart."
Rilke in the First Elegy goes on to say that "Beauty is nothing else but the beginning of terror, which we are just able to bear and we are stunned by it because it so serenely disdains to destroy us."
This is fairly bold, even daunting positioning for a poet and Rilke means to attack the big stuff. He is grand like Faust addressing Mephistopheles. Or Milton in "Paradise Lost." Or Dante in "Inferno."
Rilke's poetry is rich and densely packed with meaning. His elegies are epic in his perspective of the universe but there is a relative brevity compared to epic poets who take on the universe in lengthy discourse.
It is perhaps the height of optimism that Rilke believes he can directly confront the meaning of the universe from a castle near Trieste, where Joyce also wrote, on the Adriatic Sea under the auspices of a patron in Marie Von Thurn und Taxis-Hohenlohe over four months.
But the muse does come speaking in the undertones of summoned angels and Rilke listens attuned to their whispers to build in the divine dialogue an opus magnus from the turrets and towers of the castle walls.
In the Second Elegy he writes:
"Each angel is terrifying. And, alas, even though I know
about you, almost deadly birds of the soul, I still invoke you."
Some truly intriguing questions are framed from Rilke's discourse among the angels:
"Does then the cosmic space
into which we dissolve, taste of us? Do the Angels
really hold only that which spring from them,
or do they, at times, as if by oversight, enfold unto themselves
a hint of our being as well?"
In the Fourth Elegy he invokes the images of puppetry as he sits before the stage:
"An angel has to come, take part, and draw the puppets up high.
Angel and puppet: at last there is a real play."
In the Seventh Elegy we find that Rilke is taking on the Zeitgeist, the spirit of time:
"Do not believe that destiny is more than a summing up of childhood...
The Zeitgeist builds vast reservoirs of power for itself, shapeless
as the tense urge that it extracts from all things.
He no longer recognizes temples. We are secretly hoarding these extravagances of the heart."
In the Eighth Elegy he speaks more of destiny:
"That's what destiny is: to oppose
and nothing but that, and forever to oppose...
And we: spectators, always, everywhere,
turned toward everything and never outward.
It overfills us. We arrange it. It falls apart.
We rearrange it and we, ourselves, fall apart."
A favorite few lines emerges from this elegy by Rilke:
"Who, then, has turned us around like this, that we,
whatever we do, appear like someone about
to depart? So much like the man on the final hill
that shows him his whole valley for one last time,
who turns, and stops there, lingering-,
this, then, is how we live, forever taking our leave."
In the Ninth Elegy he has advice for us when we address the angels and God:
"Praise the world to the Angel, not the unspeakable one, you
can't impress him with grand emotion: in the Universe,
where he feels so intensely, you are only a beginner. So show
him simplicity, shaped from generation to generation,
that is ours and lives near our hands and within our sight.
Tell him things. He will stand amazed...
Look, I live. On what? Neither childhood nor future
grows less... A surfeit of being
wells up in my heart."
The final elegy deals with a woman named Lament:
"That some day, emerging from the grim vision,
I might sing jubilation and praise to assenting Angels.
That of the clear striking hammers of my heart
no one would fail me from slack wavering or
broken strings. That my weeping face would
make me more radiant; that my trivial tears might flower...
We were, she says, a great race once."
I urge you to take on Rilke's "Duino Elegies" and to read it slowly and linger on every radiant word: this is the really good stuff.
Are we all no less than Rilke in his castle by the sea seeking to make sense of the tumult of the universe in dialogue with our own angels?
The translation by Leslie P. Gartner is inspiring.
January 12, 2022
Pushkin Press’s reissue of an English-language version of Rilke’s Duino Elegies by writer Vita Sackville-West and her cousin Edward, published in 1931 but out of print ever since. Vita initially attempted a translation of Rilke’s elegies in 1928, together with one of her many lovers Margaret Voight, an American living in Berlin, but both the affair and the project came to nothing. Vita resumed this work in collaboration with Edward who’d also been living in Berlin. As a gay man he found Weimar Berlin a refreshing space, intensely liberating in contrast to a more repressive English culture. His time there also enabled him to develop sufficient German skills to collaborate with Vita on Rilke’s verses. And together they produced the first ever English-language edition of the Duino Elegies.
It was printed in a limited edition distributed by Leonard Woolf, a long-time admirer of Rilke, via the Woolfs’ Hogarth Press, as a personal favour to Vita and Edward. At first the translation was well received, in part because it was the only time the verses had appeared in English. But the Sackville-Wests’ interpretation turned out to be highly controversial, not least their decision to render the cycle entirely in blank verse – only one of the ten elegies that formed the piece was originally written using this structure. It seems there was a heated series of debates and letters flying around from outraged experts in poetry and/or German literature criticising every aspect of the Sackville-Wests’ decisions. The Woolfs’ eventually supported a joint translation by poet Stephen Spender and German academic J. B. Leishman, and the Sackville-West attempt sank without a trace.
The use of blank verse here does seem to lend this a certain Shakespearian grandeur and resonance, particularly when read aloud, but I felt the structure and ornate style also made Rilke’s verses more arcane and inaccessible than they needed to be. Although they do retain some of Rilke’s marvellous imagery and, to be fair, the cycle’s notoriously difficult to translate into English without losing or compromising some aspect of Rilke’s intense vision. Since the Sackville-Wests’ effort there’ve been a slew of English translations, some more literal, some paraphrases. The cycle itself has become world famous, inspiring writers, poets, composers and philosophers from John Ashbery, Wittgenstein, and Amitav Ghosh to Thomas Pynchon. It’s a fascinating meditation on human existence, the fragility of life, the certainty of death. It’s also easily misinterpreted, it features, for example, numerous references to an angel and the angelic easily mistaken for Christian symbolism but actually standing for something far more abstract in nature.
This republication’s exciting and fascinating as a historical document and it comes with a comprehensive introduction and overview, as well as the original comments by the Sackville-Wests on their project and choices. All of which makes it worth reading if you’re a Sackville-West fan or someone already interested in Rilke. But for anyone looking for a way into Rilke’s elegies, it might be useful to compare this with a more reader-friendly version, accompanied by background notes on Rilke’s text and ideas.
Thanks to Netgalley and publisher Pushkin Press for an arc
Rating: 3.5
It was printed in a limited edition distributed by Leonard Woolf, a long-time admirer of Rilke, via the Woolfs’ Hogarth Press, as a personal favour to Vita and Edward. At first the translation was well received, in part because it was the only time the verses had appeared in English. But the Sackville-Wests’ interpretation turned out to be highly controversial, not least their decision to render the cycle entirely in blank verse – only one of the ten elegies that formed the piece was originally written using this structure. It seems there was a heated series of debates and letters flying around from outraged experts in poetry and/or German literature criticising every aspect of the Sackville-Wests’ decisions. The Woolfs’ eventually supported a joint translation by poet Stephen Spender and German academic J. B. Leishman, and the Sackville-West attempt sank without a trace.
The use of blank verse here does seem to lend this a certain Shakespearian grandeur and resonance, particularly when read aloud, but I felt the structure and ornate style also made Rilke’s verses more arcane and inaccessible than they needed to be. Although they do retain some of Rilke’s marvellous imagery and, to be fair, the cycle’s notoriously difficult to translate into English without losing or compromising some aspect of Rilke’s intense vision. Since the Sackville-Wests’ effort there’ve been a slew of English translations, some more literal, some paraphrases. The cycle itself has become world famous, inspiring writers, poets, composers and philosophers from John Ashbery, Wittgenstein, and Amitav Ghosh to Thomas Pynchon. It’s a fascinating meditation on human existence, the fragility of life, the certainty of death. It’s also easily misinterpreted, it features, for example, numerous references to an angel and the angelic easily mistaken for Christian symbolism but actually standing for something far more abstract in nature.
This republication’s exciting and fascinating as a historical document and it comes with a comprehensive introduction and overview, as well as the original comments by the Sackville-Wests on their project and choices. All of which makes it worth reading if you’re a Sackville-West fan or someone already interested in Rilke. But for anyone looking for a way into Rilke’s elegies, it might be useful to compare this with a more reader-friendly version, accompanied by background notes on Rilke’s text and ideas.
Thanks to Netgalley and publisher Pushkin Press for an arc
Rating: 3.5
October 11, 2022
Ever since I lost my faith years ago, I’ve been on a path to try and reconstruct the kind of framework or guide I once had. The form of faith I’d been raised in and discarded was intolerant and harmful, to self and others, and I’ve been trying to find the kind of sustenance I could have had through different practices–mostly mindfulness and meditation, and also through poetry. Not that fiction or the other forms of prose don’t have illuminative qualities that could help a person find solace, meaning, and appreciation for life and, even, death. But there’s a pristine nature to poetry, that even in its elusiveness and moments of not understanding, that feels–despite cringing at the word at times–spiritual. And Rilke’s poetry, as I’ve recently found out, could be described as all this.
Of the destructive nature of beauty:
…For beauty is
nothing
But the beginning of terror, which we can
just barely endure,
and we stand in awe of it as it coolly
disdains
to destroy us. Every angel is terrifying.
Of destiny:
From the eighth elegy
That’s what destiny is: being opposite
and nothing else but that and always
opposite.
This stunning part on the manner in which human beings perceive the world and life:
And we: Spectators, always, everywhere,
looking at, never out of, everything!
It overfills us. We arrange it. It falls apart.
We rearrange it, and fall apart ourselves.
Who has turned us around like this, so that
always, no matter what we do, we’re in the
stance
of someone just departing? As he,
on the last hill that shows him all his valley
one last time, turns, stops, lingers—,
we live our lives, forever taking leave.>
Of the demanding nature of life and its transience:
But because life compels us, and
because everything here
seems to need us, all this fleetingness
that strangely entreats us. Us, the most
fleeting…
Wisdom brims throughout this book with its captivating imagery and the incredible story-telling (that bit of the Land of Pain and Laments in the end), makes for an unforgettable reading experience.
Of the destructive nature of beauty:
…For beauty is
nothing
But the beginning of terror, which we can
just barely endure,
and we stand in awe of it as it coolly
disdains
to destroy us. Every angel is terrifying.
Of destiny:
From the eighth elegy
That’s what destiny is: being opposite
and nothing else but that and always
opposite.
This stunning part on the manner in which human beings perceive the world and life:
And we: Spectators, always, everywhere,
looking at, never out of, everything!
It overfills us. We arrange it. It falls apart.
We rearrange it, and fall apart ourselves.
Who has turned us around like this, so that
always, no matter what we do, we’re in the
stance
of someone just departing? As he,
on the last hill that shows him all his valley
one last time, turns, stops, lingers—,
we live our lives, forever taking leave.>
Of the demanding nature of life and its transience:
But because life compels us, and
because everything here
seems to need us, all this fleetingness
that strangely entreats us. Us, the most
fleeting…
Wisdom brims throughout this book with its captivating imagery and the incredible story-telling (that bit of the Land of Pain and Laments in the end), makes for an unforgettable reading experience.
April 15, 2015
I was trying to understand beauty.
How silly of me. One elegy after another,I realized you submit to beauty and its
consequences( which hopefully last in you, or so you wish).
And complete surrender is a journey on a bridge of understanding with cables of faith dangling and holding them. Once over, you light up the bridge to see what new travails unfold before you in the newly surrendered land.
Praise be to beauty. Praise be to eyes that look for it.
Now back to the elegies.
How silly of me. One elegy after another,I realized you submit to beauty and its
consequences( which hopefully last in you, or so you wish).
And complete surrender is a journey on a bridge of understanding with cables of faith dangling and holding them. Once over, you light up the bridge to see what new travails unfold before you in the newly surrendered land.
Praise be to beauty. Praise be to eyes that look for it.
Now back to the elegies.
January 30, 2020
From one of the fathers of modern literature, Duino Elegies is simply one of his greatest achievements. It's monumental in every way, and almost impossible to describe. I wouldn't even know where to start. Stunningly beautiful would be an easy way to put it.
Extract from the The Third Elegy -
One thing to sing the beloved, another, alas!
that hidden guilty river-god of the blood.
He whom she knows from afar, her lover, what does he know
of that Lord of Pleasure, who often, out of his lonely heart,
before she had soothed him, often as though she did not exist,
streaming from, oh, what unknowable depths, would uplift
his god-head, uprousing the night to infinite uproar?
Oh, the Neptune within our blood, oh, his terrible trident!
Oh, the gloomy blast of his breast from the twisted shell!
Hark, how the night grows fluted and hollowed. You stars,
is it not from you that the lover’s delight in the loved one’s
face arises? Does not his intimate insight
into her purest face come from the purest stars?
It was not you, alas! It was not his mother
that bent his brows into such an expectant arch.
Not to meet yours, girl feeling him, not to meet yours
did his lips begin to assume that more fruitful curve.
Do you really suppose your gentle approach could have so
convulsed him, you, that wander like morning-breezes?
You terrified his heart, indeed; but more ancient terrors
rushed into him in that instant of shattering contact.
Call him . . . you can’t quite call him away from those sombre
companions.
Truly, he tries to, he does escape them; disburdenedly settles
into your intimate heart, receives and begins himself there.
Did he ever begin himself, though?
Mother, you made him small, it was you that began him;
he was new to you, you arched over those new eyes
the friendly world, averting the one that was strange.
Where, oh where, are the years when you simply displaced
for him, with your slender figure, the surging abyss?
Extract from the The Third Elegy -
One thing to sing the beloved, another, alas!
that hidden guilty river-god of the blood.
He whom she knows from afar, her lover, what does he know
of that Lord of Pleasure, who often, out of his lonely heart,
before she had soothed him, often as though she did not exist,
streaming from, oh, what unknowable depths, would uplift
his god-head, uprousing the night to infinite uproar?
Oh, the Neptune within our blood, oh, his terrible trident!
Oh, the gloomy blast of his breast from the twisted shell!
Hark, how the night grows fluted and hollowed. You stars,
is it not from you that the lover’s delight in the loved one’s
face arises? Does not his intimate insight
into her purest face come from the purest stars?
It was not you, alas! It was not his mother
that bent his brows into such an expectant arch.
Not to meet yours, girl feeling him, not to meet yours
did his lips begin to assume that more fruitful curve.
Do you really suppose your gentle approach could have so
convulsed him, you, that wander like morning-breezes?
You terrified his heart, indeed; but more ancient terrors
rushed into him in that instant of shattering contact.
Call him . . . you can’t quite call him away from those sombre
companions.
Truly, he tries to, he does escape them; disburdenedly settles
into your intimate heart, receives and begins himself there.
Did he ever begin himself, though?
Mother, you made him small, it was you that began him;
he was new to you, you arched over those new eyes
the friendly world, averting the one that was strange.
Where, oh where, are the years when you simply displaced
for him, with your slender figure, the surging abyss?
September 2, 2023
Късчета леденокристална печал, звъняща във всемира - така го усещам Рилке. Той говори, преизпълнен с алюзии и загадки, изплашен и същевременно привлечен от смъртта и абсолюта, и все пак нещо отвъд думите му е изконно разбираемо.
———
”…На чувството не познаваме
контура, а само туй, що вае го отвън.
Кой не е тръпнал пред завесата в сърцето?”
“Защо, когато може просто да отмества
срока на живота, както лавърът тъмнее
сред зеленото с вълни по крайчеца на
всеки лист (като усмивка на ветрец); защо ли
нужно е човекът, избягвайки съдбата,
да копнее за съдба?…”
“…Че красотата е само
начало на ужаса, който все още понасяме
тъй възхитени, понеже нехайно отказва
да ни погуби. … “
“… А може би сме тук да кажем: къща,
мост, чешма, врата, стомна, овошка, прозорец,
най-многото: колона, кула… но, разбери, да кажем,
о, тъй да кажем, както никога сами нещата
не са и вярвали да бъдат. …”
------
Гравюрата "Меланхолия" на Дюрер някак успешно влиза в диалог с Рилке. В света на видимото, когато тази царица властва, всичко си е все още там, но разкривено и нефункциониращо...
———
”…На чувството не познаваме
контура, а само туй, що вае го отвън.
Кой не е тръпнал пред завесата в сърцето?”
“Защо, когато може просто да отмества
срока на живота, както лавърът тъмнее
сред зеленото с вълни по крайчеца на
всеки лист (като усмивка на ветрец); защо ли
нужно е човекът, избягвайки съдбата,
да копнее за съдба?…”
“…Че красотата е само
начало на ужаса, който все още понасяме
тъй възхитени, понеже нехайно отказва
да ни погуби. … “
“… А може би сме тук да кажем: къща,
мост, чешма, врата, стомна, овошка, прозорец,
най-многото: колона, кула… но, разбери, да кажем,
о, тъй да кажем, както никога сами нещата
не са и вярвали да бъдат. …”
------
Гравюрата "Меланхолия" на Дюрер някак успешно влиза в диалог с Рилке. В света на видимото, когато тази царица властва, всичко си е все още там, но разкривено и нефункциониращо...
January 20, 2008
These poems blew my mind, kicked my ass and sent chills down my back. Never have poems so resonated with that dark secret place I keep hidden from view. But these poems threw back the curtain and shined with angelic vengeance upon my internal cowardice. And this, really, is what I want poems to do: let me know I am not alone and that others have felt as despondant and helpless (in a very mental and spiritual way) as I have. I almost didn't finish reading the poems because I felt my heart being stabbed (literally) and I couldn't take, what Henry James calls, the surprise of recognition. Only this was a brutal and beautiful surprise. One that changed the way I saw poetry and myself . This was some sort of poetical acid: sinister and illuminating, horrifying and unforgetable.
September 12, 2022
به راستی که غریب است خاک را،
دیگر به مسکن و ماوا نداشتن؛
آدابِ با چه مشقّت فراگرفته را، دیگر به کار نبردن؛
گل ها و یا تمامیِ آن چیزهای پُرنویدِ دگر را،
دیگر ز منظرِ آینده بینِ انسان ها، تعبیر و فهم نکردن ؛
دیگر نه خردسالگکی بودن میانِ دست هایی پیوسته در هراس؛
و نامِ خاصِ خویش را، حتی،
چونان شکسته پاره ی بازیچه ای به دور افکندن.
غریب، آرزو نکردنِ هیچ آرزو به دل.
غریب، دیدنِ پیوسته های قدیمی به دستِ باد اکنون.
و سخت، مرده بودن و، با این حال،
تلاشِ سخت از پیِ جبران برای دست یافتن به سهم خود از جاودانگی.
اما چه اشتباه می کنند زندگان، که مرزهایی ترسیم می کنند این چنین مطلق.
***
آه، ای ساعت های کودکی، که پشتِ هر شکلِ شما
چیزی بیش تر از گذشته ی محض نهان بود و هنوز آینده چیزی نبود گسترده به پیشِ پای ما.
رشد می کردیم و بزرگ تر می گشتیم؛ و
برای رشدِ خود بسا که بی تابی هم می کردیم،
نیمی به خاطرِ آنانی که جز همین بزرگتر بودنِ خود چیزی فزون ز ما نداشتند.
***
هر چیزِ خوب را می خواهیم به عینه ببینیم،
حال آنکه دیدنی ترین شادی ها تنها وقتی به چشمِ ما می آیند که ما وادیسه کرده باشیم آن ها را،
در اندرونِ خود.
محبوبِ من، جهان را جایی نیست مگر در اندرون، در دلِ ما.
و حیاتِ ما به این وادیسی ست که جهانِ خارجی را، دائم، می کاهد.
***
متن کتاب به صورت دو زبانه است ، و شرح مختصری درباره ی هر مرثیه در بخش "یادداشت ها " در انتها آورده شده که جالب توجه است.
+ کتاب رو دوبار و بعضی از مرثیه ها رو چندبار خوندم و لذت بردم واس همین هم ۵ دادم.دیگه نمیدونم برای خوانش بعدی نظرم چقدر تغییر کنه .
دیگر به مسکن و ماوا نداشتن؛
آدابِ با چه مشقّت فراگرفته را، دیگر به کار نبردن؛
گل ها و یا تمامیِ آن چیزهای پُرنویدِ دگر را،
دیگر ز منظرِ آینده بینِ انسان ها، تعبیر و فهم نکردن ؛
دیگر نه خردسالگکی بودن میانِ دست هایی پیوسته در هراس؛
و نامِ خاصِ خویش را، حتی،
چونان شکسته پاره ی بازیچه ای به دور افکندن.
غریب، آرزو نکردنِ هیچ آرزو به دل.
غریب، دیدنِ پیوسته های قدیمی به دستِ باد اکنون.
و سخت، مرده بودن و، با این حال،
تلاشِ سخت از پیِ جبران برای دست یافتن به سهم خود از جاودانگی.
اما چه اشتباه می کنند زندگان، که مرزهایی ترسیم می کنند این چنین مطلق.
***
آه، ای ساعت های کودکی، که پشتِ هر شکلِ شما
چیزی بیش تر از گذشته ی محض نهان بود و هنوز آینده چیزی نبود گسترده به پیشِ پای ما.
رشد می کردیم و بزرگ تر می گشتیم؛ و
برای رشدِ خود بسا که بی تابی هم می کردیم،
نیمی به خاطرِ آنانی که جز همین بزرگتر بودنِ خود چیزی فزون ز ما نداشتند.
***
هر چیزِ خوب را می خواهیم به عینه ببینیم،
حال آنکه دیدنی ترین شادی ها تنها وقتی به چشمِ ما می آیند که ما وادیسه کرده باشیم آن ها را،
در اندرونِ خود.
محبوبِ من، جهان را جایی نیست مگر در اندرون، در دلِ ما.
و حیاتِ ما به این وادیسی ست که جهانِ خارجی را، دائم، می کاهد.
***
متن کتاب به صورت دو زبانه است ، و شرح مختصری درباره ی هر مرثیه در بخش "یادداشت ها " در انتها آورده شده که جالب توجه است.
+ کتاب رو دوبار و بعضی از مرثیه ها رو چندبار خوندم و لذت بردم واس همین هم ۵ دادم.دیگه نمیدونم برای خوانش بعدی نظرم چقدر تغییر کنه .
December 2, 2021
Οι ελεγείες του Ντουίνο, Rainer Maria Rilke εκδ. Πατάκη, μτφ Μαρία Τοπάλη
Όπως ακριβώς το είχα φανταστεί.
Ξεκινώντας τον Ρίλκε ανορθόδοξα από το «Γράμματα σε έναν νέο ποιητή και γράμματα σε μια νέα γυναίκα» και όχι από το κυρίως έργο του, τον είχα φανταστεί αποσυρμένο σε ένα κάστρο, μονωμένο από τα εγκόσμια, να γράφει προσηλωμένος, μέσα στη προσφορότερη συνθήκη της δημιουργίας, τη μοναξιά. Ιδού λοιπόν τώρα, που ήρθε το πλήρωμα του χρόνου για τις Ελεγείες του Ντουίνο, επιβεβαιώθηκε η πρότερη εικασία: το Ντουίνο είναι ένα κάστρο κοντά στην Τεργέστη, το ορμητήριο απ’ όπου εκκίνησαν αυτές οι εκπληκτικές ελεγείες στις αρχές του 20ου αιώνα για να ολοκληρωθούν σε βάθος δεκαετίας, με τον Ρίλκε να τις γράφει από château σε château περνώντας από σαράντα κύματα ψυχικής αστάθειας (ας μην ξεχνάμε: είμαστε στα πρόθυρα του Α’ ΠΠ). Τα παιχνίδια της διαίσθησης είναι εντυπωσιακά.
Είμαι ανίκανη να εκφραστώ με οποιαδήποτε ακρίβεια για τις Ελεγείες. Άλλωστε πρόκειται για έναν ποιητικό χείμαρρο που πλακώνει τον καθένα με διαφορετικό τρόπο. Μόνο να παροτρύνω μπορώ για την ανάγνωσή τους: Σπεύδε βραδέως. Προσηλώσου. Διάβασε στίχους δυνατά, στάσου λίγο παραπάνω. Ξαναδιάβασε. Άκου τη μουσική. Ο Άγγελος, οι Ερωτευμένες, οι Οδύνες, το Νεκρό Παιδί, η Μάνα συνομιλούν με τον ποιητή, στήσε αυτί, λένε πράγματα, κουτσομπόλεψε.
Έχουμε στο νου μας ότι με την ποίηση μας δίνεται η σκουντιά προς τα πάνω, προς το ονειρικό, το φανταστικό, το μη ρεαλιστικό. Κι όμως η ποίηση μπορεί κάλλιστα και να μας γειώσει, να πατήσουμε με γυμνά πόδια στη γη και κάπου, κάπως, να τα δούμε όλα αλλιώς. Μπορεί και αυτή να γίνει ένα όχημα αυτοβοήθειας που θα μας κρατήσει το κεφάλι έξω απ’ το νερό.
Ο ποιητής Ρίλκε είναι εξαιρετικά παρών και τελεί ένα σημαντικό έργο: γίνεται ο μεσάζων μεταξύ εγκόσμιου και απόκοσμου, μας τείνει το χέρι και ανοίγει τις πιέτες με τους στίχους του, ώστε το αόρατο να διαφανεί και να ενωθεί με το ορατό, με απώτερο σκοπό να συντεθεί ένα Όλον. Ο ποιητής, γυρολόγος του σύμπαντος, συμφιλιώνει το ερμηνευμένο με το ανερμήνευτο, και μας το δίνει αυτό μέσα από τις Ελεγείες του, αυτό το έργο που διαβάζεται πολλές φορές σαν λευκή και όχι σαν μαύρη μαγεία.
Δεκάδες τα αποσπάσματα που θα ήθελα να μοιραστώ για να σας παρασύρω, διαλέγω τυχαία ένα:
«Δεν πρέπει οι πανάρχαιες τούτες οδύνες για μας, επιτέλους,
να γίνουν πιο γόνιμες; Δεν είναι καιρός, αγαπώντας,
να λευτερωθούμε απ’ τον αγαπημένο και ν’ αντέξουμε
τρέμοντας∙
όπως το βέλος αντέχει μες στη χορδή, συγκεντρωμένο
τινάζεται, ώστε,
να γίνει πολύ πιο πολύ από τον εαυτό του. Γιατί δεν είναι
να μένει κανείς πουθενα.»
[Η Μαρία Τοπάλη δίνει εξαιρετικά σχόλια και επίμετρο.]
Όπως ακριβώς το είχα φανταστεί.
Ξεκινώντας τον Ρίλκε ανορθόδοξα από το «Γράμματα σε έναν νέο ποιητή και γράμματα σε μια νέα γυναίκα» και όχι από το κυρίως έργο του, τον είχα φανταστεί αποσυρμένο σε ένα κάστρο, μονωμένο από τα εγκόσμια, να γράφει προσηλωμένος, μέσα στη προσφορότερη συνθήκη της δημιουργίας, τη μοναξιά. Ιδού λοιπόν τώρα, που ήρθε το πλήρωμα του χρόνου για τις Ελεγείες του Ντουίνο, επιβεβαιώθηκε η πρότερη εικασία: το Ντουίνο είναι ένα κάστρο κοντά στην Τεργέστη, το ορμητήριο απ’ όπου εκκίνησαν αυτές οι εκπληκτικές ελεγείες στις αρχές του 20ου αιώνα για να ολοκληρωθούν σε βάθος δεκαετίας, με τον Ρίλκε να τις γράφει από château σε château περνώντας από σαράντα κύματα ψυχικής αστάθειας (ας μην ξεχνάμε: είμαστε στα πρόθυρα του Α’ ΠΠ). Τα παιχνίδια της διαίσθησης είναι εντυπωσιακά.
Είμαι ανίκανη να εκφραστώ με οποιαδήποτε ακρίβεια για τις Ελεγείες. Άλλωστε πρόκειται για έναν ποιητικό χείμαρρο που πλακώνει τον καθένα με διαφορετικό τρόπο. Μόνο να παροτρύνω μπορώ για την ανάγνωσή τους: Σπεύδε βραδέως. Προσηλώσου. Διάβασε στίχους δυνατά, στάσου λίγο παραπάνω. Ξαναδιάβασε. Άκου τη μουσική. Ο Άγγελος, οι Ερωτευμένες, οι Οδύνες, το Νεκρό Παιδί, η Μάνα συνομιλούν με τον ποιητή, στήσε αυτί, λένε πράγματα, κουτσομπόλεψε.
Έχουμε στο νου μας ότι με την ποίηση μας δίνεται η σκουντιά προς τα πάνω, προς το ονειρικό, το φανταστικό, το μη ρεαλιστικό. Κι όμως η ποίηση μπορεί κάλλιστα και να μας γειώσει, να πατήσουμε με γυμνά πόδια στη γη και κάπου, κάπως, να τα δούμε όλα αλλιώς. Μπορεί και αυτή να γίνει ένα όχημα αυτοβοήθειας που θα μας κρατήσει το κεφάλι έξω απ’ το νερό.
Ο ποιητής Ρίλκε είναι εξαιρετικά παρών και τελεί ένα σημαντικό έργο: γίνεται ο μεσάζων μεταξύ εγκόσμιου και απόκοσμου, μας τείνει το χέρι και ανοίγει τις πιέτες με τους στίχους του, ώστε το αόρατο να διαφανεί και να ενωθεί με το ορατό, με απώτερο σκοπό να συντεθεί ένα Όλον. Ο ποιητής, γυρολόγος του σύμπαντος, συμφιλιώνει το ερμηνευμένο με το ανερμήνευτο, και μας το δίνει αυτό μέσα από τις Ελεγείες του, αυτό το έργο που διαβάζεται πολλές φορές σαν λευκή και όχι σαν μαύρη μαγεία.
Δεκάδες τα αποσπάσματα που θα ήθελα να μοιραστώ για να σας παρασύρω, διαλέγω τυχαία ένα:
«Δεν πρέπει οι πανάρχαιες τούτες οδύνες για μας, επιτέλους,
να γίνουν πιο γόνιμες; Δεν είναι καιρός, αγαπώντας,
να λευτερωθούμε απ’ τον αγαπημένο και ν’ αντέξουμε
τρέμοντας∙
όπως το βέλος αντέχει μες στη χορδή, συγκεντρωμένο
τινάζεται, ώστε,
να γίνει πολύ πιο πολύ από τον εαυτό του. Γιατί δεν είναι
να μένει κανείς πουθενα.»
[Η Μαρία Τοπάλη δίνει εξαιρετικά σχόλια και επίμετρο.]
October 22, 2017
Rilke'nin dimağından farklı olacağını düşündüğüm bir kitaptı.
-olacağı-nı dememdeki sebep ise şiirler ( ağıtlar ) hissiyatıma çok yakın başlayarak, her ağıtta bir adım daha uzaklaşarak maalesef kayboldu.
Özellikle birilerine ithaf edilmiş çok ağıt var. Kişileri de bilmemekten kaynaklı uzaktan bakan kişi oldum.
Sorun bende mi acaba diye öğrencilerime de derslerde bir kaç ağıtı okudum, genel yapısından başka çok da fazla his uyandırmadı.
Yine de aralardan seçtiğim parça cümleler ve tamlamaları paylaşmak isterim.
Saygılar.
"Melek! al bu tebessümü, topla o minik çiçekli şifalı otu.
Bir vazo bul buluştur, koru onu! Arasına koy, bizim henüz kıvrım kıvrım
süslü yazıyla..."
"Eşik; nedir ki iki
seven için, kadim eşiğini kapılarının
birazcık aşındırmak, kendilerinden öncekiler
ve sonrakiler...., hafiften."
"Bak yaşıyorum. Neyle? Ne çocukluk ne de gelecek
azalıyor... Sayısız varoluş
filizleniyor yüreğimde."
" Ve biz, mutluluğun tırmandığını
düşünenler, hissederdik o duyguyu,
bizi neredeyse dehşete sürükleyen,
mutlu biri düştüğünde."
-olacağı-nı dememdeki sebep ise şiirler ( ağıtlar ) hissiyatıma çok yakın başlayarak, her ağıtta bir adım daha uzaklaşarak maalesef kayboldu.
Özellikle birilerine ithaf edilmiş çok ağıt var. Kişileri de bilmemekten kaynaklı uzaktan bakan kişi oldum.
Sorun bende mi acaba diye öğrencilerime de derslerde bir kaç ağıtı okudum, genel yapısından başka çok da fazla his uyandırmadı.
Yine de aralardan seçtiğim parça cümleler ve tamlamaları paylaşmak isterim.
Saygılar.
"Melek! al bu tebessümü, topla o minik çiçekli şifalı otu.
Bir vazo bul buluştur, koru onu! Arasına koy, bizim henüz kıvrım kıvrım
süslü yazıyla..."
"Eşik; nedir ki iki
seven için, kadim eşiğini kapılarının
birazcık aşındırmak, kendilerinden öncekiler
ve sonrakiler...., hafiften."
"Bak yaşıyorum. Neyle? Ne çocukluk ne de gelecek
azalıyor... Sayısız varoluş
filizleniyor yüreğimde."
" Ve biz, mutluluğun tırmandığını
düşünenler, hissederdik o duyguyu,
bizi neredeyse dehşete sürükleyen,
mutlu biri düştüğünde."
March 31, 2022
Quem, se eu gritasse, me ouviria dentre as ordens
dos anjos?
dos anjos?
June 19, 2009
I thought Stephen Mitchell's translation was the best that could ever possibly exist. I was, happily, totally wrong. I picked this up at a friend's house by chance and was completely absorbed.
The Chrichtons bring out a sort of conversational quality in the writing which I hadn't been aware even existed. Rilke's meditations are spectral, evanescent, secular and luminous. I didn't know there were other ways to appraoch the Elegies and now I see that there's a whole new world inside this text I was never quite aware of before.
If you're already into Rilke, and even if you're not, do yourself a huge favor and dig in to the primal metaphysical mojo going on here. It could change your life.
O, and the inclusion of three letters he wrote about the sequence are enough to make you stand up on the midnight subway and shout incomprehensibly about Time, God, Nothingness, Returns, and the inevitability of all parting. Yep. It's THAT good.
July 13, 2016
Provavelmente merece 5 *, mas de tão metafórico que é, senti-me afundar num abismo de sombras e emergir bêbada de ignorância.
January 12, 2022
As many translations are listed together on GR under the same title, this review is about the recent reprint by Pushkin Press of the first English translation by Vita and Edward Sackville-West (1931).
Rilke’s Duino Elegies were first translated into English by Vita Sackville-West with her cousin Edward and it’s admirable that Pushkin Press is reissuing their translation (1931) in this centenary year of Rilke’s completion (1922) of his celebrated poem in the form of 10 elegies. Many different versions followed and the pioneering effort by the Sackville-Wests laid forgotten on dusty shelves. It was indeed the time to revive it for, to date, it’s the only version in blank verse, honoring Rilke’s preference for his elegies in metrical verse (except for the fourth and eighth), while wisely adapting the rhythm to the English idiom. I sampled a few modern translations and it still towers over them in lyrical beauty. Alas, Duino Elegies is also a philosophical work in the poetic form and unfortunately neither the Sackville-West rendition nor the current edition make it accurate and accessible to an English reader.
In a shorter introduction, Leslie Chamberlain only briefly alludes to the main themes and in passing acknowledges the problematic nature of Sackville-Wests' edition in conveying Rilkean philosophy which made Leonard Woolf, the original publisher, quickly replace it with Leishman’s version, co-written with the poet Stephen Spender. The negative reaction by the well-known Germanists in the Times Literary Supplement about its accuracy is relegated to a brief footnote citing only the TLS issue numbers where these appeared, without any substantive explanation.
The original translators’ note can be found at the end of the book which succinctly presents dilemmas involved in literary aspects of translations, so well written that it should serve as a primer. But, except for brief biographical details of the poet they clearly admire, there is no, even if brief, explanation of the ideas and metaphoric visions in the elegies except for mentioning the important “protagonist” Angel which is erroneously associated with the Christian theologist Aquinas. It is by now common knowledge that Rilke’s Angel is of his own imagination and decidedly distinct from the Christian doctrine.
Duino Elegies are enigmatic and inaccessible without good notes and commentary, and a contemporary reader would be much better served had Pushkin Press augmented this translation of historic value with explanatory annotations by a Rilke scholar. Short of it, and in the absence of the original German text on facing pages, commonly done today especially for this work, a reader unfamiliar with Rilke’s philosophical universe and/or the German language is left with an enigmatic reading rendered in a poetic verse. Given this deficiency, it is critical to supplement the reading with a well annotated modern version (as any other attempt, Stephen Mitchell’s version is far from perfect but probably justifiably popular) along with a good commentary book which I find exceptionally well done and accessible in Duinesian Elegies by Elaine Boney.
3.5/5
My thanks to Pushkin Press for an ARC via NetGalley.
Rilke’s Duino Elegies were first translated into English by Vita Sackville-West with her cousin Edward and it’s admirable that Pushkin Press is reissuing their translation (1931) in this centenary year of Rilke’s completion (1922) of his celebrated poem in the form of 10 elegies. Many different versions followed and the pioneering effort by the Sackville-Wests laid forgotten on dusty shelves. It was indeed the time to revive it for, to date, it’s the only version in blank verse, honoring Rilke’s preference for his elegies in metrical verse (except for the fourth and eighth), while wisely adapting the rhythm to the English idiom. I sampled a few modern translations and it still towers over them in lyrical beauty. Alas, Duino Elegies is also a philosophical work in the poetic form and unfortunately neither the Sackville-West rendition nor the current edition make it accurate and accessible to an English reader.
In a shorter introduction, Leslie Chamberlain only briefly alludes to the main themes and in passing acknowledges the problematic nature of Sackville-Wests' edition in conveying Rilkean philosophy which made Leonard Woolf, the original publisher, quickly replace it with Leishman’s version, co-written with the poet Stephen Spender. The negative reaction by the well-known Germanists in the Times Literary Supplement about its accuracy is relegated to a brief footnote citing only the TLS issue numbers where these appeared, without any substantive explanation.
The original translators’ note can be found at the end of the book which succinctly presents dilemmas involved in literary aspects of translations, so well written that it should serve as a primer. But, except for brief biographical details of the poet they clearly admire, there is no, even if brief, explanation of the ideas and metaphoric visions in the elegies except for mentioning the important “protagonist” Angel which is erroneously associated with the Christian theologist Aquinas. It is by now common knowledge that Rilke’s Angel is of his own imagination and decidedly distinct from the Christian doctrine.
Duino Elegies are enigmatic and inaccessible without good notes and commentary, and a contemporary reader would be much better served had Pushkin Press augmented this translation of historic value with explanatory annotations by a Rilke scholar. Short of it, and in the absence of the original German text on facing pages, commonly done today especially for this work, a reader unfamiliar with Rilke’s philosophical universe and/or the German language is left with an enigmatic reading rendered in a poetic verse. Given this deficiency, it is critical to supplement the reading with a well annotated modern version (as any other attempt, Stephen Mitchell’s version is far from perfect but probably justifiably popular) along with a good commentary book which I find exceptionally well done and accessible in Duinesian Elegies by Elaine Boney.
3.5/5
My thanks to Pushkin Press for an ARC via NetGalley.
August 8, 2020
Il massimo dell’entusiasmo, nell’intuizione della luce supplementare che potrebbe arrivare avendo a disposizione una traduttrice o un traduttore a domicilio, filosofo o filosofa e poetessa o poeta a sua volta. Madrelingua, possibilmente. Molto contemporanea e con nostalgia - non generica - per altre epoche poetiche. Niente di più.
Rimangono Rainer Maria Rilke e i suoi passi lenti su quel suo sentiero lento. Sistiana alle spalle e la luce intera del golfo; possibilmente quella dell’ora blu.
____________
Noi che sprechiamo i dolori.
Come li affrettiamo mentre essi tristi, durano,
a vedere se finiscono, forse. E sono invece
la fronda del nostro inverno, il nostro sempreverde cupo
uno dei tempi dell’anno segreto, ma non solo
tempo.
Rimangono Rainer Maria Rilke e i suoi passi lenti su quel suo sentiero lento. Sistiana alle spalle e la luce intera del golfo; possibilmente quella dell’ora blu.
____________
Noi che sprechiamo i dolori.
Come li affrettiamo mentre essi tristi, durano,
a vedere se finiscono, forse. E sono invece
la fronda del nostro inverno, il nostro sempreverde cupo
uno dei tempi dell’anno segreto, ma non solo
tempo.
August 16, 2018
Ποιος, αν κραύγαζα, θα μ’ άκουγε τάχα απ’ των Αγγέλων τα Τάγματα;
κι αν ένας μ’ έσφιγγεν ακόμα, ξαφνικά πάνω στην καρδιά του,
θα διαλυόμουν κάτω από την δυνατότερη ύπαρξη του.
Γιατί, η Ομορφιά, δεν είναι παρά η αρχή του Τρομερού, που μόλις
μπορούμε να υποφέρουμε και τη θαυμάζουμε μόνο γιατί
δεν στέργει να μας καταστρέψει. (η αρχή της 1ης ελεγείας)
κι αν ένας μ’ έσφιγγεν ακόμα, ξαφνικά πάνω στην καρδιά του,
θα διαλυόμουν κάτω από την δυνατότερη ύπαρξη του.
Γιατί, η Ομορφιά, δεν είναι παρά η αρχή του Τρομερού, που μόλις
μπορούμε να υποφέρουμε και τη θαυμάζουμε μόνο γιατί
δεν στέργει να μας καταστρέψει. (η αρχή της 1ης ελεγείας)
December 4, 2014
And so we press on and try to achieve it,
try to contain it in our simple hands,
in our brimming eyes, our voiceless heart.
Rilke is both the reason I mistrust translations and the exception to my rule.
try to contain it in our simple hands,
in our brimming eyes, our voiceless heart.
Rilke is both the reason I mistrust translations and the exception to my rule.
June 6, 2023
In these 8 elegies, Rilke demonstrates his lyrical talents and combines them with philosophical musings about human life and death.
April 18, 2022
The story goes that while staying at the Duino Castle, one morning needing to gather his thoughts in order to write an answer to a business letter, Rilke goes out in the storm. All of a sudden he hears a voice in the strong wind, calling: "If I cried out, who would hear me up there, among the angelic orders?"
He immediately writes those words down in his ever-present notebook and hence they become the first lines of Duino Elegies.
Let no one say that I don’t love life, the eternal
presence: I pulsate in her; she bears me, she gives me
the spaciousness of this day, the primeval workday
for me to make use of, and over my existence flings,
in her magnanimity, nights that have never been.
Her strong hand is above me, and if she should hold me under,
submerged in fate, I would have to learn how to breathe
down there.
He immediately writes those words down in his ever-present notebook and hence they become the first lines of Duino Elegies.
Let no one say that I don’t love life, the eternal
presence: I pulsate in her; she bears me, she gives me
the spaciousness of this day, the primeval workday
for me to make use of, and over my existence flings,
in her magnanimity, nights that have never been.
Her strong hand is above me, and if she should hold me under,
submerged in fate, I would have to learn how to breathe
down there.
March 24, 2023
Così viviamo ed è sempre un addio
Colpevolmente in ritardo, colmo la grande lacuna di non aver letto questo immenso capolavoro della poesia di tutti i tempi.
Rilke ha la capacità ineguagliabile di unire forza espressiva e complessità di significati - il suo verso è sempre potente e chiaro e colpisce immediatamente con visioni fortissime:
la notte, la notte, quando il vento
pieno di spazio celeste il viso ci rode
ma la grandezza dell'autore sta nella scelta più estrema e complessa del tema: la condizione umana al suo livello più essenziale e filosofico, quell'enigma ineffabile ed inesprimibile che noi tutti sentiamo ogni attimo della nostra vita. E per fare questo, tende la lingua verso spazi inesplorati, costruisce parole e concetti carichi di significati illimitati, spinge la riflessione verso dimensioni da trattato filosofico. Il miracolo rilkiano è quello di rendere poetici, diretti, vivi, concetti astratti e paradossali.
in questo faticoso non-dove, d'improvviso
il non dicibile momento, dove il puro troppopoco
in modo incomprensibile si muta - salta
in quel troppo vuoto. Dove
il conto di molte cifre
non dà resto di numeri.
Il suo poetare è immediato ed enigmatico, chiaro e diretto e al contempo oscuro e ambiguo. Non si capisce di cosa parli e, contemporaneamente, si sente benissimo di cosa stia parlando - parole indefinite e vaghe il cui senso si coglie immediatamente e si intuisce ben prima di capirlo.
Una volta,
ciascuno, solo una volta. Una volta e non più.
E noi anche una volta. Mai più
E noi, che pensiamo alla felicità ascendente,
saremmo commossi
e quasi sconvolti
quando cade una cosa felice.
Colpevolmente in ritardo, colmo la grande lacuna di non aver letto questo immenso capolavoro della poesia di tutti i tempi.
Rilke ha la capacità ineguagliabile di unire forza espressiva e complessità di significati - il suo verso è sempre potente e chiaro e colpisce immediatamente con visioni fortissime:
la notte, la notte, quando il vento
pieno di spazio celeste il viso ci rode
ma la grandezza dell'autore sta nella scelta più estrema e complessa del tema: la condizione umana al suo livello più essenziale e filosofico, quell'enigma ineffabile ed inesprimibile che noi tutti sentiamo ogni attimo della nostra vita. E per fare questo, tende la lingua verso spazi inesplorati, costruisce parole e concetti carichi di significati illimitati, spinge la riflessione verso dimensioni da trattato filosofico. Il miracolo rilkiano è quello di rendere poetici, diretti, vivi, concetti astratti e paradossali.
in questo faticoso non-dove, d'improvviso
il non dicibile momento, dove il puro troppopoco
in modo incomprensibile si muta - salta
in quel troppo vuoto. Dove
il conto di molte cifre
non dà resto di numeri.
Il suo poetare è immediato ed enigmatico, chiaro e diretto e al contempo oscuro e ambiguo. Non si capisce di cosa parli e, contemporaneamente, si sente benissimo di cosa stia parlando - parole indefinite e vaghe il cui senso si coglie immediatamente e si intuisce ben prima di capirlo.
Una volta,
ciascuno, solo una volta. Una volta e non più.
E noi anche una volta. Mai più
E noi, che pensiamo alla felicità ascendente,
saremmo commossi
e quasi sconvolti
quando cade una cosa felice.
August 15, 2022
GR lists different and widely varied translations as the same book. This review is about Duinesian Elegies as rendered and commented by Elaine Boney. While there are alternative translations of greater lyric value than Boney's, her version succeeds if the preference is for substantive fidelity over lyric quality to convey Rilke's ideas that are metaphorically embodied in his unique imagery and language. But its main value is in an extensive commentary that comprises almost two-thirds of the book. Boney provides detailed annotations explaining how each section and memorable phrases fit into Rilke's philosophical thought. GR shows that so far there has been no review for this edition, but I find it indispensable for any reader who is interested to understand this enigmatic and complex poem in 10 elegies in an accessible manner and use it as a complement to any other translation of choice.
May 11, 2023
«¿Quién nos hizo girar de tal manera
que, hagamos lo que hagamos, siempre nuestra
actitud es la de uno que se marcha?
Como aquel que, en la última colina
que de pronto aún le muestra todo el valle,
sobre sí mismo gira, se detiene,
y aún algo permanece: así vivimos,
sin cesar despidiéndonos, sí, siempre.»
«por qué este tener que ser humanos
y, evitando el destino, estar ansiosos
de alcanzar el destino?...»
que, hagamos lo que hagamos, siempre nuestra
actitud es la de uno que se marcha?
Como aquel que, en la última colina
que de pronto aún le muestra todo el valle,
sobre sí mismo gira, se detiene,
y aún algo permanece: así vivimos,
sin cesar despidiéndonos, sí, siempre.»
«por qué este tener que ser humanos
y, evitando el destino, estar ansiosos
de alcanzar el destino?...»
March 14, 2020
This is the first time I read anything by Rilke, and already I know that this rather small set of elegies are among the most passionate, honest and anguished poems I have ever encountered. While I went into reading this book expecting something profoundly religious and mystical, I think the elegies only conform to such descriptions in the very limited sense of 'angels' being present in them. The pain and catharsis bound in stanzas are grounded in human pain, in mortality and existential angst. At times, Rilke's disquietude surpasses words and echoes in reader's body like a tangible, physical pain. It's such a captivating experience that made me impatient to read more of his poetry, while simultaneously lamenting my ignorance of German. I can only imagine how transcendental these elegies are in their original language.
June 5, 2023
"أما حان لأقدم أوجاعنا
أن تثمر لنا أكثر؟ أما حان الوقت،
بحبّ أن نتحرر من الحبيب
ومرتجفين نصمد:
كما السهم يصمد في الوتر مستجمعًا ذاته في الانطلاق
حتى يتخطى ذاته؟ لأن البقاء في لا-مكان"
أن تثمر لنا أكثر؟ أما حان الوقت،
بحبّ أن نتحرر من الحبيب
ومرتجفين نصمد:
كما السهم يصمد في الوتر مستجمعًا ذاته في الانطلاق
حتى يتخطى ذاته؟ لأن البقاء في لا-مكان"
October 13, 2021
Opera filosofica in versi di straordinarie ed insondabili densità e bellezza. Posta sul crinale tra il bisogno di trascendenza e la disperata percezione del Vuoto. Tra il vitalismo di un romanticismo ottocentesco ormai maturo e il cupio dissolvi del novecento che si affaccia. Tra la vaga intuizione di un nuovo misticismo “scientifico” e il nichilismo.
Non si finisce mai di rileggerla, interpretarla, scovarci dentro nuovi lampi di luce sulla condizione umana e sul senso dell’essere.
Sulla condanna solo umana di saperci mortali.
Sulla acquisizione faticosa della consapevolezza che Dio è morto e che “La loro chiesa comprata bell’e fatta linda e chiusa e delusa come un ufficio postale di domenica” non è più in grado di dare nessuna risposta.
Sull’orgoglioso tentativo di rifugiarsi nell’arte per tentare di trovare lì un modo per capire, una via di salvezza dall’oblio per noi e per ogni cosa che ha avuto il dono o la condanna di essere; oppure forse per ricavarne solo una consolazione. Perché “il bello non è che il tremendo al suo inizio”.
Sulla orgogliosa rivendicazione dell’accettazione del dolore della condizione umana come l’unica via per praticare e nobilitare l’arte, quell’unica forma di creazione e di illusione di permanenza a cui possiamo accedere. Prima che anche il privilegio umano del “Dire” e del percepire la bellezza vada perduto nel silenzio dell’ ”eterno imperturbabile”.
Ci sono tornato per via di una rilettura dei versi iniziali della prima elegia e di quelli finali della decima, fatta da Baricco dentro quella illuminante e imperdibile Lettura Mantovana sulla Deposizione di Van der Weyden.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BieC_...
Il paradosso della interpretazione della Deposizione come un momento di irruzione della felicità:
“E noi che pensiamo la felicità
come un’ascesa, ne avremmo l’emozione
quasi sconcertante
di quando cosa ch’è felice, cade.”
Non si finisce mai di rileggerla, interpretarla, scovarci dentro nuovi lampi di luce sulla condizione umana e sul senso dell’essere.
Sulla condanna solo umana di saperci mortali.
Sulla acquisizione faticosa della consapevolezza che Dio è morto e che “La loro chiesa comprata bell’e fatta linda e chiusa e delusa come un ufficio postale di domenica” non è più in grado di dare nessuna risposta.
Sull’orgoglioso tentativo di rifugiarsi nell’arte per tentare di trovare lì un modo per capire, una via di salvezza dall’oblio per noi e per ogni cosa che ha avuto il dono o la condanna di essere; oppure forse per ricavarne solo una consolazione. Perché “il bello non è che il tremendo al suo inizio”.
Sulla orgogliosa rivendicazione dell’accettazione del dolore della condizione umana come l’unica via per praticare e nobilitare l’arte, quell’unica forma di creazione e di illusione di permanenza a cui possiamo accedere. Prima che anche il privilegio umano del “Dire” e del percepire la bellezza vada perduto nel silenzio dell’ ”eterno imperturbabile”.
Ci sono tornato per via di una rilettura dei versi iniziali della prima elegia e di quelli finali della decima, fatta da Baricco dentro quella illuminante e imperdibile Lettura Mantovana sulla Deposizione di Van der Weyden.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BieC_...
Il paradosso della interpretazione della Deposizione come un momento di irruzione della felicità:
“E noi che pensiamo la felicità
come un’ascesa, ne avremmo l’emozione
quasi sconcertante
di quando cosa ch’è felice, cade.”
January 16, 2022
I liked the book but I would not really call them poems. I understand that translations i n different languages is hard to put in poem format. I would call these "poems" short stories. They are beautiful and I like them. One thing that puts me off are the footnotes. I felt it was unnecessary and it made the book longer that what it is. Take off the footnotes and the book would be way better.
I received a free copy of the book and is voluntarily writing a review
I received a free copy of the book and is voluntarily writing a review
January 28, 2016
Rilke's Duino Elegies are a contender for the greatest lyric sequence of the 20th century in a century that featured some really great ones, by Yeats, H.D. (Trilogy), Eliot, Stevens (Auroras of Autumn in particular!), Pound, Hughes, Hayden, Merrill, and many others could be named. Lots of the translations of Rilke's Elegies in English are really mediocre: turgid Rilke is a complete contradiction in terms. David Young's is by far the best in print for English-speaking readers. These versions by poet David P. Young use Williams' triadic or 3-step line to give Rilke's Germanic syntax in English light and grace and power, balancing rapidity of thought with poise and depth. Plus there are very useful notes. Highly recommended! It's a poem I try to read about once a year, sort of like taking a spirit quest.
January 17, 2022
2,75✨
Some of these poems were really beautiful! One day I will come back to this work and reread all of them. I still have to study the meaning of some lines.
Some of these poems were really beautiful! One day I will come back to this work and reread all of them. I still have to study the meaning of some lines.
November 28, 2011
I find writing about poetry extremely difficult because we enter the realm of pure emotions, of the perfect magic that words can possess, and what each reader thinks, and feels, when reading a poem, is not only very personal but also, quite often, impossible to define and to reduce into a few sentences. Therefore I rarely review the poetry books that I own, on this site. But Rilke could well be my favorite poet, for reasons that I can't explain, except that the scope of his visions, both extraordinarily intimate and magnificently epic, and the power of his writing, touch me deeply. The Duino Elegies have been applauded by basically everybody, and are considered, for good reasons, as one of of the most intensely evocative work of poetry of the German language - I do understand a little bit of German, but not enough to be able to read Rilke in his native tongue, and that's too bad: as good as a translation is, it always does lose something, and that's even more true for poetry. Anyway. This is my own way of paying homage to an amazing poet - whose only novel is on my shelve, waiting to be read...
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