The ill-matched threads

One more poem from Rilke, the prayer of my heart tonight (for myself, and several dear friends).

She who reconciles the ill-matched threads
of her life, and weaves them gratefully
into a single cloth -
it's she who drives the loudmouths from the hall
and clears it for a different celebration

where the one guest is you.
In the softness of evening
it's you she receives.

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.

Poetry

A week or so ago I listened to a radio documentary about spirituality and depression. In the course of listening, a book of poetry by Rainer Maria Rilke, translated from the German by Anita Barrows and Joanna Macy, was highly recommended. The book is titled, "Rilke's Book of Hours: Love Poems to God."

I ordered it in from the library, and, now, half-way through the book, am going to end up buying myself a copy. Rilke's poetry is strikingly beautiful, and is catching me in all sorts of tender places at the moment. Want a sample? Here are a few bits and pieces of poems, and one full poem...

But you take pleasure in the faces
of those who know they thirst
You cherish those
who grip you for survival.

~

May what I do flow from me like a river,
no forcing and no holding back,
the way it is with children.

~

I want to unfold.
Let no place in me hold itself closed,
for where I am closed, I am false.
I want to stay clear in your sight.

~

It feels as though I make my way
through massive rock
like a vein of ore
alone, encased.

I am so deep inside it
I can't see the path or any distance:
everything is close
and everything closing in on me
has turned to stone.

Since I still don't know enough about pain,
this terrible darkness makes me small.
If it's you, though -

press down hard on me, break in
that I may know the weight of your hand,
and you, the fullness of my cry.