mnetha
living with the black dog
je est un autremain: piercedhands
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One Day
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Beings which reproduce themselves are distinct from one another, and those reproduced are likewise distinct from each other, just as they are distinct from their parents. Each being is distinct from all others. His birth, his death, the events of his life may have an interest for others, but he alone is directly concerned in them. He is born alone. He dies alone. Between one being and another, there is a gulf, a discontinuity.
— Georges Bataille, Death and Sensuality: A Study of Eroticism and the Taboo (tr. Mary Dalwood)
#georges bataille#death and sensuality: a study of eroticism and the taboo#prose#discontinuous beings
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You many unassaulted cities:
Have you never yearned for the enemy?
Yearned that he might beseige you
for long irresolute years, until
in hopelessness and hunger you receive him?
He extends like the land beyond your walls,
and he knows he can hold out longer.
— Rainer Maria Rilke, Book of Hours: Love Poems to God (tr. Anita Barrows and Joanna Macy)
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Often when I imagine you
your wholeness cascades into many shapes.
You run like a herd of luminous deer
and I am dark, I am forest.
— Rainer Maria Rilke, Book of Hours: Love Poems to God (tr. Anita Barrows and Joanna Macy)
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You, my own deep soul,
trust me. I will not betray you.
My blood is alive with many voices
telling me that I am made of longing.
What mystery breaks over me now?
In its shadow I come into life.
For the first time I am alone with you—
you, my power to feel.
— Rainer Maria Rilke, Book of Hours: Love Poems to God (tr. Anita Barrows and Joanna Macy)
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On pious images pale cheeks
blush with a strange fire.
Your senses uncoil like snakes
awakened by the beat of the tambourine.
Then suddenly you're left all alone
with your body that can't love you
and your will that can't save you.
But now, like a whispering in dark streets,
rumors of God run through your dark blood.
— Rainer Maria Rilke, Book of Hours: Love Poems to God (tr. Anita Barrows and Joanna Macy)
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Only God escapes his will—a God
he loves with a high hatred
for being so out of reach.
— Rainer Maria Rilke, Book of Hours: Love Poems to God (tr. Anita Barrows and Joanna Macy)
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He was the kind of man who turns
to bring gorth the meaning of an age
that wants to end.
He lifts its whole weight
and heaves it into the chasm of his heart.
— Rainer Maria Rilke, Book of Hours: Love Poems to God (tr. Anita Barrows and Joanna Macy)
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I love you, gentlest of Ways,
who ripened us as we wrestled with you.
You, the great homesickness we could never shake,
you, the forest that always surrounded us,
you, the song we sang in every silence,
you, dark net threading through us,
You began yourself so greatly
on that day when you began us--
and we have so ripened in your sunlight,
spreading far and firmly planted--
that now in all people, angles, madonnas,
you can decide: the work is done.
Let your hand rest on the rim of Heaven now
and mutely bear the darkness we bring over you.
— Rainer Maria Rilke, Book of Hours: Love Poems to God (tr. Anita Barrows and Joanna Macy)
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I want to die. Leave me alone.
I feel I am almost there—
where the great terror
can dismember me.
— Rainer Maria Rilke, Book of Hours: Love Poems to God (tr. Anita Barrows and Joanna Macy)
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I am the dream you are dreaming.
When you want to awaken, I am that wanting.
— Rainer Maria Rilke, Book of Hours: Love Poems to God (tr. Anita Barrows and Joanna Macy)
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All creation holds its breath, listening with me,
because, to hear you, I keep silent.
— Rainer Maria Rilke, Book of Hours: Love Poems to God (tr. Anita Barrows and Joanna Macy)
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At my senses' horizon
you appear hesitantly,
like scattered islands.
— Rainer Maria Rilke, Book of Hours: Love Poems to God (tr. Anita Barrows and Joanna Macy)
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You are the partner of her loneliness,
the unspeaking center of her monologues.
With each disclosure you encompass more
and she stretches beyond what limits her,
to hold you.
— Rainer Maria Rilke, Book of Hours: Love Poems to God (tr. Anita Barrows and Joanna Macy)
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Because once someone dared
to want you,
I know that we, too, may want you.
When gold is in the mountain
and we've ravaged the depths
till we've given up digging,
it will be brought forth into day
by the river that mines
the silences of stone.
Even when we don't desire it,
God is ripening.
— Rainer Maria Rilke, Book of Hours: Love Poems to God (tr. Anita Barrows and Joanna Macy)
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Our hands shake as we try to construct you,
block on block.
But you, cathedral we dimply perceive--
who can bring you to completion?
What's Rome? It crumbled.
What is the world? We are destroying it
before your towers can taper into spires,
before we can assemble your face
from the piles of mosaic.
Yet sometimes in dreams
I take in your whole expanse,
from its deepest beginnings
up to the rooftop's glittering ridge.
And then I see: it is my mind
that will fashion
and set the last pieces in place.
— Rainer Maria Rilke, Book of Hours: Love Poems to God (tr. Anita Barrows and Joanna Macy)
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You are not dead yet, it's not too late
to open your depths by plunging into them
and drink in the life
that reveals itself quietly there.
— Rainer Maria Rilke, Book of Hours: Love Poems to God (tr. Anita Barrows and Joanna Macy)
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You see, I want a lot.
Maybe I want it all:
the darkness of each endless fall,
the shimmering light of each ascent.
So many are alive who don't seem to care.
Casual, easy, they move in the world
as though untouched
But you take pleasure in the faces
of those who know they thirst.
You cherish those
who grip you for survival.
— Rainer Maria Rilke, Book of Hours: Love Poems to God (tr. Anita Barrows and Joanna Macy)
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