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Primo voto

Lou Andreas Salome Rainer Maria Rilke to Lou Andreas-Salome I held myself too open, I forgot that outside not just things exist and animals fully at ease in themselves, whose eyes reach from their lives' roundedness no differently than portraits do from frames; forgot that I with all I did incessantly crammed looks into myself; looks, opinion, curiosity. Who knows: perhaps eyes form in space and look on everywhere. Ah, only plunged toward you does my face cease being on display, grows into you and twines on darkly, endlessly, into your sheltered heart. As one puts a handkerchief before pent-in-breath- no: as one presses it against a wound out of which the whole of life, in a single gush, wants to stream, I held you to me: I saw you turn red from me. How could anyone express what took place between us? We made up for everything there was never time for. I matured strangely in every impulse of unperformed youth, and you, love, had wildest childhood over my heart. Memory won't suffice here: from those moments there must be layers of pure existence on my being's floor, a precipitate from that immensely overfilled solution. For I don't think back; all that I am stirs me because of you. I don't invent you at sadly cooled-off places from which you've gone away; even your not being there is warm with you and more real and more than a privation. Longing leads out too often into vagueness. Why should I cast myself, when, for all I know, your influence falls on me, gently, like moonlight on a window seat. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Abschiedsgedicht [Ich steh im Finstern und wie erblindet...] (German) I Ich steh im Finstern und wie erblindet, weil sich zu Dir mein Blick nicht mehr findet. Der Tage irres Gedränge ist ein Vorhang mir nur, dahinter Du bist. Ich starre drauf hin, ob er sich nicht hebt, der Vorhang, dahinter mein Leben lebt, meines Lebens Gehalt, meines Lebens Gebot - und doch mein Tod -. II Du schmiegtest Dich an mich, doch nicht zum Hohn, nur so, wie die formende Hand sich schmiegt an den Ton. Die Hand mit des Schöpfers Gewalt. Ihr träumte eine Gestalt - da wurde sie müde, da ließ sie nach, da ließ sie mich fallen, und ich zerbrach. III Warst mir die mütterlichste der Frauen, ein Freund warst Du, wie Männer sind, ein Weib, so warst Du anzuschauen, und öfter noch warst Du ein Kind. Du warst das Zarteste, das mir begegnet, das Härteste warst Du, damit ich rang. Du warst das Hohe, das mich gesegnet - und wurdest der Abgrund, der mich verschlang. (Rainer Maria Rilke an Lou Andreas-Salomé - 1901)