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domingo, 19 de octubre de 2014

From The Sonnets to Orpheus

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From The Sonnets to Orpheus

VIII
You playmates of mine in the scattered parks of the city,
small friends from a childhood of long ago:
how we found and liked one another, hesitantly,
and, like the lamb with the talking scroll,

spoke with our silence. When we were filled with joy,
it belonged to no one: it was simply there.
And how it dissolved among all the adults who passed by
and in the fears of the endless year.

Wheels rolled past us, we stood and stared at the carriages;
houses surrounded us, solid but untrue – and none
of them ever knew us. What in that world was real?

Nothing. Only the balls. Their magnificent arches.
Not even the children… But sometimes one,

oh a vanishing one, stepped under the plummeting ball.  



-Rilke


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