On Music

Music: breathing of statues. Perhaps:
silence of paintings. Language where
language 
ends. Time
that stands head-up in the direction
of hearts that wear out.

Feeling… for whom? Place where feeling is
transformed…into what? Into a countryside we can hear.    Music: you stranger. You feeling space growing
away from us. The deepest thing in us, that,
rising above us, forces its way out…
a holy goodbye:
when the innermost point in us stands
outside, as amazing space, as the other
side of the air:
pure,
immense,
not for us to live in now.

— Rainer Maria Rilke, from Selected Poems of Rainer Maria Rilke, trans. Robert Bly

T.S. Poetry

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