Andare, Partire, Tornare

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Rilke

A while back, I took a poetry writing class, and produced some stuff to go alone with all the scraps I had produced along the way. I put them up on my website, and after a while, promptly forgot about them. I looked them over the other day, and was vaguely upset with them. I'm bad when I have to recieve criticism, but the poetry class didn't really offer much of it, besides sort of a group discussion that usually didn't end up with any direction. So I'm left with a set of poems that I don't really like, but still have a place for me. And then, on an unrelated quest entirely, I stumbled accross the poetry of Rilke, who I had heard of but never read.

I'm not trying to set up any kind of comparison between my work and Rilke, except for the fact that I think Rilke is the closest real poet to me in voice. Or, in other words, he writes in a way I didn't even know I was trying to emulate. I'm including a Rilke poem below that I particularly like. Next on the shopping list is a collection of his writing.

Love Song

How can I keep my soul in me, so that it doesn't touch your soul? How can I raise it high enough, past you, to other things? I would like to shelter it, among remote lost objects, in some dark and silent place that doesn't resonate when your depths resound. Yet everything that touches us, me and you, takes us together like a violin's bow, which draws *one* voice out of two separate strings. Upon what instrument are we two spanned? And what musician holds us in his hand?

Oh sweetest song.

7:19 p.m. - 2001-06-16

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