December 4, 2009KR BlogKR

Short Takes (of Poetry)

The Doves (by Rainer Rilke)

.

That faint gray twilight on the swelling pout,

Like senses fading in the taper’s gleam.

That red, detected through the mountain steam

from a burnt offering to Love put out.

.

Contentment of accumulated gift

resting on hands extended openly;

Full vessel till the shoulder’s sudden lift,

Then glance and flexure and diversity.

.

The throat encircled with a little band

Where priestly fingers use to grasp and press,

And then the neck’s utter defenselessness

Peacefully smoothed as though by Nature’s hand.

Paris, April 1913

DoveTypes