February 10

The deep parts of my life pour onward,

as if the river shores were opening out.

It seems that things are more like me now,

That I can see farther into paintings.

I feel closer to what language can’t reach.

With my senses, as with birds, I climb

into the windy heaven, out of the oak,

in the ponds broken off from the sky

my falling sinks, as if standing on fishes.

Moving Forward

-Rainer Maria Rilke -

Translated by Robert Bly

 

I bought a little black book to write on. It hasn’t been touched yet. Funny how I can keep on doing this but can’t make myself write down my thoughts for me. To tell you the truth, it’s too damn scary. What would I say, “Hi self, you can’t make up stories here; you can’t fool me.”

The problem with standing on fishes, I think, is that they are too slippery.

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