Papyri

Poems, Imitations & Translations

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[Coptic Papyri]

Contents:



  1. Papyri: Love-poems & fragments
    from Sappho & elsewhere
    (2007)




  2. Ovid in Otherworld (2006)




  3. The Puppet Oresteia (2008)




  4. The Britney Suite (2003)




  5. 31 Days (2009)




  6. Case Studies (2001)




  7. Flying Blind (2009)




  8. Theme & Variations (2010)




  9. Celanie: Poems & Drawings after Paul Celan (2010-12)




  10. Melbourne Notebook (2011-12)




  11. A Clearer View of the Hinterland (2014)




  12. Poetry Specials (2008-2018)




  13. Collage Poems (1997-2005)




  14. Can Poetry Save the Earth? (2018)




  15. Fernando Pessoa (2000)




  16. Three Versions from Rilke (2019)




  17. The Oceanic Feeling (2021)



[Bruegel the Elder: The Tower of Babel (1525)]

Monday

Notes to The Oceanic Feeling (2021)



Cover image: Katharina Jaeger /
Cover design: William Bardebes


The Oceanic Feeling

Poems
by Jack Ross

Drawings
by Katharina Jaeger

Afterword
by Bronwyn Lloyd

ISBN 978-0-473-55801-7


Online Notes


Acknowledgments:

Warmest thanks to publishers (and designers) William Bardebes and Emma Smith, of Salt & Greyboy Press.

I’d also like to thank Katharina Jaeger for her generosity in allowing me to use some of the beautiful ink on paper drawings from her ‘Prunings’ sequence. Also Tony Bond for his fine photographs of these images.

I remain very much in debt to Bronwyn Lloyd, Thérèse Lloyd, Tracey Slaughter, and Michael Steven for valuable editorial advice, and Bronwyn in particular for her insightful afterword to the collection.

Many of the pieces included here have been previously published, some in different forms. Thanks again to the editors and publishers of all those anthologies, websites and journals for permission to reproduce them here. For further details, please check below:

Contents:

  1. The Oceanic Feeling (7/1-18/10/17)

  2. Family Plot

  3. Lone pine (14/1-5/12/14)
  4. Family plot (26/6-12/8/15)
  5. When you’re the only one (30/9-19/11/17)
  6. Oh br/other! (6/1/16-13/7/17)
  7. This morning Sylvie (16/1/16-7/5/17)
  8. Zero is lying down today (18/1/16-22/10/17)
  9. What to do till the sentinels come (11-23/4/18)
  10. Rituals (9/1/16-7/5/17)
  11. My Uncle Tommy (15-23/4/18)
  12. 1942 (17/9-4/12/16)
  13. Very superstitious (4/1-21/8/16)
  14. Playing the long game (29/1-29/10/16)
  15. Are Kiwi women (30/1-29/10/16)
  16. Rather a shock (15/1/16-7/5/17)
  17. Family skeletons (10/1/16-7/5/17)
  18. Self-analysis (11/1/16-7/5/17)
  19. Checking into Facebook (31/1-5/12/16)
  20. A borrowed life (30/9-2/10/17)
  21. Psych 101 (7/1/16-4/1/17)
  22. What do you want? (8/9-13/10/18)

  23. Ice Road Trucker

  24. Ice Road Trucker (7/2-30/3/15)
  25. Two Fords (17/7-12/8/15)
  26. Stranded Polar Bear (21/11-14/12/19)
  27. Indexing Poetry NZ (5/1-29/8/16)
  28. Turning at the doorstep (21/1/16-19/10/17)
  29. The perils of public art (8/1/16-7/5/17)
  30. Communications committee (14/1-4/12/16)
  31. Oral exam, 1990 (1/1-21/8/16)
  32. Everything ages too fast (27/1/16-7/5/17)
  33. Restructuring (20/2-12/3/20)
  34. Kissing the Blarney Stone (23/4-29/8/16)
  35. Skins, 1981 (22/2-14/4/19)
  36. Snorkelling the Great Barrier Reef (17-19/11/17)
  37. Mark (21/6-12/8/15)
  38. Reindeer games (27/12/17)
  39. The Mysterious Island (18-26/4/15)
  40. Antigone (29/5/14; 18/4-13/6/15)
  41. Shorts:
    • Birds of Passage (12/11/14-7/2/15)
    • Auckland Anthem (30/3-15/4/12)
    • Hunting in Palmerston (after Su Shi) (6/9-17/10/13)

  42. Translations

  43. On Early Trains (after Boris Pasternak) (26/1-7/2/15)
  44. Bangalore 2002 (after Boris Pasternak) (30/12/14-7/2/15)
  45. 1913 (after Apollinaire) (21/6-12/8/15)

Notes & Sources:



  1. The Oceanic Feeling (7/1-18/10/17)

  2. Published:
    8 Poems by New Zealand Poets 2019. Designed by Tara McLeod. Auckland: The Pear Tree Press, 2019. [14-15].








  3. Lone pine (14/1-5/12/14)

  4. Published:
    Six Pack Sound #02. Compiled and edited by Michele Leggott, Tim Page and Brian Flaherty. Auckland: nzepc, 2015. [Available here].






    Massey University: Can Poetry Save the Earth? (2018)


  5. Family plot (26/6-12/8/15)

  6. Published:
    Our Changing World: Can Poetry Save the Earth? Public lecture with Prof. Bryan Walpert, Dr. Johanna Emeney & Jack Ross. Massey University podcast (31/5/18). [Available here].




  7. When you’re the only one (30/9-19/11/17)
  8. Oh br/other! (6/1/16-13/7/17)
  9. This morning Sylvie (16/1/16-7/5/17)






  10. Johanna Emeney, ed.: Poetry New Zealand Yearbook 2020


  11. Zero is lying down today (18/1/16-22/10/17)

  12. Published:
    Poetry New Zealand Yearbook 2020 [Issue #54]. Ed. Johanna Emeney. ISBN 978-0-9951229-3-2. Auckland: Massey University Press, 2020: 117-18.






    Massey University: Can Poetry Save the Earth? (2018)


  13. What to do till the sentinels come (11-23/4/18)

  14. Published:
    Our Changing World: Can Poetry Save the Earth? Public lecture with Prof. Bryan Walpert, Dr. Johanna Emeney & Jack Ross. Massey University podcast (31/5/18). [Available here].


    Roy Thomas: Avengers #102 (Marvel Comics, 1972)






  15. Rituals (9/1/16-7/5/17)






  16. Paula Green: NZ Poetry Shelf (2013- )


  17. My Uncle Tommy (15-23/4/18)

  18. Published:
    Paula Green: NZ Poetry Shelf: a poetry page with reviews, interviews and other things. [Available here].






    Dianne Firth: Poetry and Place Exhibition (2017)


  19. 1942 (17/9-4/12/16)

  20. Published:
    Dianne Firth, Poetry and Place: Catalogue for the Poetry and Place Exhibition, Belconnen Art Centre, 25 August – 17 September 2017. ISBN 978-1-74088-460-0. Canberra: University of Canberra, 2017: 10.


    Harry Flockton Clarke: June feeding a wallaby (c.1939-40)






  21. Very superstitious (4/1-21/8/16)
  22. Playing the long game (29/1-29/10/16)






  23. Johanna Emeney, ed.: Poetry New Zealand Yearbook 2020


  24. Are Kiwi women (30/1-29/10/16)

  25. Published:
    Poetry New Zealand Yearbook 2020 [Issue #54]. Ed. Johanna Emeney. ISBN 978-0-9951229-3-2. Auckland: Massey University Press, 2020: 169.






    Bronwyn Lloyd: Rather a Shock poster (2017)


  26. Rather a shock (15/1/16-7/5/17)

  27. Published:
    Rather a shock. Poem by Jack Ross. Design by Bronwyn Lloyd. Auckland: Pania Press, 2017.




  28. Family skeletons (10/1/16-7/5/17)
  29. Self-analysis (11/1/16-7/5/17)
  30. Checking into Facebook (31/1-5/12/16)
  31. A borrowed life (30/9-2/10/17)
  32. Psych 101 (7/1/16-4/1/17)






  33. Paula Green: NZ Poetry Shelf (2013- )


  34. What do you want? (8/9-13/10/18)

  35. Published:
    Paula Green: NZ Poetry Shelf: a poetry page with reviews, interviews and other things. [Available here].






    Daniel Fyles: Ice Road Trucker poster (2015)


  36. Ice Road Trucker (7/2-30/3/15)

  37. Published:
    Ice Road Trucker. Poem by Jack Ross. Design by Daniel Fyles. Letterpress printed on Arnhem 1618 cotton-rag paper in Garamond type. Ashhurst: Fyles Web Design, 2015.






    Ron Riddell, ed.: Forty Years of the Titirangi Poets (2017)


  38. Two Fords (17/7-12/8/15)

  39. Published:
    Ron Riddell, ed. Forty Years of the Titirangi Poets. Auckland: Printable Reality, 2017. 106.






    Peter Gleick: Stranded Polar Bear (2010)


  40. Stranded Polar Bear (21/11-14/12/19)

  41. Published:
    "The Terror." The Imaginary Museum (18/12/19). [Available here].


    Paul Nicklin: Polar Bears (2010)






  42. Indexing Poetry NZ (5/1-29/8/16)
  43. Turning at the doorstep (21/1/16-19/10/17)
  44. The perils of public art (8/1/16-7/5/17)
  45. Communications committee (14/1-4/12/16)
  46. Oral exam, 1990 (1/1-21/8/16)
  47. Everything ages too fast (27/1/16-7/5/17)
  48. Restructuring (20/2-12/3/20)






  49. Rachel Doré & Chris Gallavin, ed.: Manawatu Writers' Festival 2018: Poetry (2018)


  50. Kissing the Blarney Stone (23/4-29/8/16)

  51. Published:
    Manawatu Writers' Festival 2018: Poetry. Ed. Rachel Doré & Chris Gallavin. Feilding: Manawatu Writers' Festival, 2018. [10].




  52. Skins, 1981 (22/2-14/4/19)
  53. Snorkelling the Great Barrier Reef (17-19/11/17)
  54. Mark (21/6-12/8/15)
  55. Reindeer games (27/12/17)






  56. Bill Direen, ed.: Percutio 9 (2015)


  57. The Mysterious Island (18-26/4/15)

  58. Published:
    Percutio 9. Ed. Bill Direen (2015): 68.






    Bill Direen, ed.: Percutio 9 (2015)


  59. Antigone (29/5/14; 18/4-13/6/15)

  60. Published:
    Percutio 9. Ed. Bill Direen (2015): 69.




  61. Shorts:
    • Birds of Passage (12/11/14-7/2/15)
    • Auckland Anthem (30/3-15/4/12)
    • Hunting in Palmerston (after Su Shi) (6/9-17/10/13)






  62. On Early Trains (after Boris Pasternak) (26/1-7/2/15)

  63. Published:
    Cordite Poetry Review 51: Transtasman (August 2015). [Available here].

    Boris Pasternak:
    In the Wood

    The meadows were blurred by a faintly mauve heat; in the wood the darkness of cathedrals swirled. What in the world remained for them to kiss? It was all theirs, like wax growing soft on their fingers.

    There is a dream: you are not asleep, but merely dreaming that you long for sleep; that a person is dozing, and two black suns beating from beneath his eyelids are burning his lashes in his sleep.

    The sun-rays flowed by, and iridescent beetles; the glass of dragon-flies skimmed over his cheeks. The wood was full of minute scintillations, as beneath the clock-maker’s tweezers.

    It seemed he had fallen asleep to the tick of figures, while high above his head, in harsh amber, the hands of a strictly tested clock are shifted in the ether and set in accordance with the change of heat.

    They adjust the clock, shake the pine-needles, scatter shadow, wear out, and pierce the darkness of the trunks which is raised up into the day’s fatigue, on to the clock’s blue dial.

    It seemed that ancient happiness was sinking, that the wood was wrapped in the sunset of dreams. Happy people do not watch the clock, but this couple, it seemed, merely slept.

    [1917]

    [literal translation by Dmitri Obolensky]

    - Dmitri Obolensky, ed. The Penguin Book of Russian Verse: With Plain Prose translations of Each Poem. 1962. Rev. ed. 1965. The Penguin Poets, D57. Ed. J. M. Cohen (Harmondsworth: Penguin, 1967): 332-33.






  64. Bangalore 2002 (after Boris Pasternak) (30/12/14-7/2/15)

  65. Published:
    A Poetry Shelf for Paula Green. Ed. Helen Rickerby, Harry Ricketts & Anna Jackson (June 2015). [Available here].

    Boris Pasternak:
    The Steppe

    How wonderful were those sallies into the stillness! The boundless steppe is like a sea-scape. The feather-grass sighs, the ants rustle, and the mosquitoes’ whine drifts through the air.

    The ricks have fallen into line with the clouds and fade into darkness, like one volcano on another. The boundless steppe has grown silent and damp; you sway, you drift, you are buffeted.

    The mist has overtaken us and surrounds us like the sea, the burrs are trailing after the stockings, and it is wonderful to tramp the steppe like the sea-shore – you sway, you drift, you are buffeted.

    Isn’t that a rick in the mist? Who can tell? Isn’t that our straw-rick? We are coming up to it. – Yes, it is. We’ve found it. That’s it all right. The rick and the mist and the steppe all around us.

    And the Milky Way slants off towards Kerch’, like a road made dusty by cattle. If you go behind the houses it will take your breath away: wide open spaces on all sides.

    The mist is soporific, the feather-grass is like honey. The feather-grass is strewn over the whole Milky Way. The mist will disperse, and the night will cover the rick and the steppe on all sides.

    Shadowy midnight stands by the wayside, it has come right down on to the road and strewn it with stars, and you cannot cross the road to go beyond the fence without treading on the universe.

    When did the stars grow so low, midnight sink so deep into the tall wild grass, and the drenched muslin, glowing and frightened, press closer, cling, and long for a denouement?

    Let the steppe arbitrate and night judge between us. When, if not in the Beginning, did the mosquitoes whine, the ants crawl, and the burrs cling to the stockings?

    Close them, my darling, or you’ll be blinded. The whole steppe is as before the Fall: bathed in peace, like a parachute, like a heaving vision!

    [1917]

    [literal translation by Dmitri Obolensky]

    - Dmitri Obolensky, ed. The Penguin Book of Russian Verse: With Plain Prose translations of Each Poem. 1962. Rev. ed. 1965. The Penguin Poets, D57. Ed. J. M. Cohen (Harmondsworth: Penguin, 1967): 330-32.






    Pablo Picasso: Portrait of Guillaume Apollinaire (1918)


  66. 1913 (after Apollinaire) (21/6-12/8/15)

  67. Published:
    "1913: Apollinaire." The Imaginary Museum (23/4/17). [Available here].

    Guillaume Apollinaire:
    “Je suis au bord de l’océan sur une plage.”

    Je suis au bord de l’océan sur une plage
    I am at the edge of the ocean on a beach
    Fin d’été : je vois fuir les oiseaux de passage.
    At summer’s end: I see the birds of passage fly.
    Les flots en s’en allant ont laissé des lingots :
    The receding waves have left ingots
    Les méduses d’argent. Il passe des cargos
    silver jellyfish. Freighters pass
    Sur l’horizon lointain et je cherche ces rimes
    On the far horizon and I look for rhymes
    Tandis que le vent meurt dans le pins maritimes.
    while the wind dies in the coastal pines.

    Je pense à Villequier « arbres profonds et verts »
    I think of Villequier « deep, dark trees »
    La Seine non pareille aux spectacles divers
    The Seine not equal to the diverse shows
    L’Eglise des tombeaux et l’hôtel des pilotes
    The church of tombs and the hotel of pilots
    Où flotte le parfum des brunes matelotes.
    where floats the perfume of brown stew

    Les noirceurs de mon âme ont bien plus de saveur.
    The darknesses of my soul have far more taste.

    Et le soleil décline avec un air rêveur
    And the sun goes down with a dreamy air
    Une vague meurtrie a pâli sur le sable
    A bruised wave has paled on the sand
    Ainsi mon sang se brise en mon cœur misérable
    So breaks my blood in my miserable heart
    Y déposant auprès des souvenirs noyés
    deposing next to my drowned memories
    L’échouage vivant de mes amours choyés.
    the living wreck of my cherished loves.

    L’océan a jeté son manteau bleu de roi
    The ocean has thrown off its blue kingly robe
    Il est sauvage et nu maintenant dans l’effroi
    It is wild and naked now in the terror
    De ce qui vit. Mais lui défie à la tempête
    Of that which lives. But he is challenged by the storm
    Qui chante et chante et chante ainsi qu’un grande poète.
    Which sings and sings and sings like a great poet.

    [13/7/13]

    [literal translation by Jack Ross]

    - Guillaume Apollinaire. Oeuvres poétiques. Ed. Marcel Adéma & Michel Décaudin. 1956. Bibliothèque de la Pléiade, 121 (Paris: Éditions Gallimard, 1966): 734.





[44 poems]





Saturday

Three Versions from Rilke



Leonid Pasternak: Rainer Maria Rilke (1928)


I

from Orpheus in the Bays


Thus far they sail in wonder-like iceberg-work,
wish till the silver earth begins to see
all, sadder dark-signed (un)kill. Swish in worse ills,
and spring this blood, this floodgate’s sudden mention,
and swear we pour for sure (assuming) th’uncle.
Son-star nicked rotors.

Belsen was in there
and visionless evil deer. Brew canoe Boleros,
and (yay!) ne’er grocer, grow a blinder tyke,
the rubber sigh – ’Nam: fair, non-grinned, a hick-
weed Reagan. Him. Mill you, bear; I, ne’er land-shaft,
won’t swish in. We’s insane, if town-fella, long mutt-
er: sheer design in Vegas’ blasé strife, en-
vy. I nill anger, bleaker, hunger-lagged …

And these designs in Vegas! Come in, sea.


[17/8-15/10/97]

[from “Jack’s Metamorphoses (Part 2).” brief 19 (2001): 70-79.]



Orpheus - Eurydice - Hermes


If the above seems a bit obscure, that's perhaps because it was constructed in the following manner:

Das war der Seelen wunderliches Bergwerk.
Thus far they sail in wonder-like iceberg-work,
Wie stille Silbererze gingen sie
wish till the silver earth begins to see
als Adern durch sein Dunkel. Zwischen Wurzeln
all, sadder dark-signed (un)kill. Swish in worse ills,
entsprang das Blut, das fortgeht zu den Menschen,
and spring this blood, this floodgate’s sudden mention …

Felsen waren da
Belsen was in there
und wesenlose Wälder. Brücken über Leeres
and visionless evil deer. Brew canoe Boleros,
und jener große, graue, blinde Teich,
and (yay!) ne’er grocer, grow a blinder tyke,
der über seinem fernen Grunde hing
the rubber sigh – ’Nam: fair, non-grinned, a hick-
wie Regenhimmel über einer Landschaft.
weed Reagan. Him. Mill you, bear; I, ne’er land-shaft,
Und zwischen Wiesen, sanft und voller Langmut,
won’t swish in. We’s insane, if town-fella, long mutt-
erschien des einen Weges blasser Streifen,
er: sheer design in Vegas’ blasé strife, en-
wie eine lange Bleiche hingelegt.
vy. I nill anger, bleaker, hunger-lagged …

Und dieses einen Weges kamen sie.
And these designs in Vegas! Come in, sea.

[Rainer Maria Rilke. “Orpheus. Eurydike. Hermes.” Neue Gedichte I (1907). In Ernst Zinn, ed. Sämtliche Werke. 6 vols (Frankfurt: Insel, 1987) 1: 542-45.]



And just how is this a "translation", exactly? Well, certainly it's heavily under the influence of Louis Zukofksy's infamous "homophonic" version of the Roman poet Catullus:

Odi et amo, quare id faciam, fortasse requiris.
Nescio, sed fieri sentio et excrucior.

– Gaius Valerius Catullus (c.84-54 BC): Elegy LXXXV

Ōdī ět ămō quārē ĭd făcĭăm fŏrtăssě rěquīrĭs
[I detest and I love. Why that I may do, perhaps you ask.]
Nĕscĭō sěd fĭěrī sěntĭŏ ět ěxcrŭcĭŏr
[I do not know, but to become I sense and I am tortured.]

O th’hate I move love. Quarry it fact I am, for that’s so re queries.
Nescience, say th’ fiery scent I owe whets crookeder.
– Louis Zukofsky (1904-1978)
Of this epic effort, the "Translators' Preface" comments that: "This translation of Catullus follows the sound, rhythm and syntax of his Latin - tries, as is said, to breathe the "literal" meaning with him."

Celia Zukofsky later explained their working procedure in a bit more detail in a 12 Sept. 1978 letter to Burton Hatlen:

I did the spade work. I wrote out the Latin line and over it, indicated the quantity of every vowel and every syllable, that is long or short; then indicated the accented syllable. Below the Latin line I wrote the literal meaning or meanings of every word indicating gender, number, case and the order or sentence structure. I used Lewis & Short Latin Dictionary (Oxford UP) and Allen & Greenough Latin Grammar (Ginn & Co.). Louis then used my material to write poetry — good poetry — I could never do that! I never questioned any of his lines, just copied his handwritten manuscript to facilitate the typing.


Catullus: Gai Valeri Catulli Veronensis Liber, trans. Louis & Celia Zukofsky (1969)


For a more literal version of Rilke's famous poem, you might like to take a look at Stephen Mitchell's translation here.







David Howard: Jack at Purakanui (2004)

II

After Rilke


Herr: es ist Zeit. Der Sommer war sehr groß.
Lord: it is time. The summer was so gross

Lag deinen Schatten auf die Sonnenuhren,
Hang your shadows from car-aerials

und auf den Fluren laß die Winde los. …
And over asphalt let dust-devils loose

Wer jetzt kein Haus hat, baut sich keines mehr.
Whoso no house hath, will not build it now

Wer jetzt allein ist, wird es lange bleiben …
Whoso’s alone, long will remain that way

Lord, it is time – the summer was so gross.
Hang your shadows from car aerials,
and over asphalt let dust-devils loose.

Tell the last girls to cover up their breasts –
no more sunbathing on the eastern shore –
button up trousers, blouses, coats; no more
blood-sweetness from the wine-dark flesh.

Whoso no house has, will not build it now.
Whoso’s alone, long will remain that way:
walk, read a little, tap-tap every day
long letters – wander listlessly
fall alleys, where the dead leaves stray.


[15/10/97]

[Jack Ross, City of Strange Brunettes (Auckland: Pohutukawa Press, 1998): 46.]



Jack Ross: City of Strange Brunettes (1998)


This reads a bit more like a conventional translation of Rilke's "Autumn Day" poem, but there's still a bit of Zukofskian word-play going on in my choice of a word such as "gross," which has very distinct meanings in German and English. I also like the way I was able in my syntax – awkward phrasings such as "whoso no house has" for "Wer jetzt kein Haus hat" – to emphasise the dependence of this version on the original at almost all points. Others may have seen this as a reluctance to commit to any one set of words, however.

Herbsttag

Herr: es ist Zeit. Der Sommer war sehr gross.
Leg deinen Schatten auf die Sonnenuhren,
und auf den Fluren lass die Winde los.

Befiehl den letzten Früchten voll zu sein;
gib ihnen noch zwei südlichere Tage,
dränge sie zur Vollendung hin und jage
die letzte Süsse in den schweren Wein.

Wer jetzt kein Haus hat, baut sich keines mehr.
Wer jetzt allein ist, wird es lange bleiben,
wird wachen, lesen, lange Briefe schreiben
und wird in den Alleen hin und her
unruhig wandern, wenn die Blätter treiben.

[Rainer Maria Rilke. “Herbsttag.” Das Buch der Bilder (1902). In Ernst Zinn, ed. Sämtliche Werke. 6 vols (Frankfurt: Insel, 1987) 1: 398.]



Annette Gendler: Autumn Day (30/11/11)


For a more literal version of Rilke's poem, you can look at Edward Snow's translation here.







Christchurch Mosque Massacre suspect (16/3/19)

III

Christchurch, 15th March 2019


Du mußt dein Leben ändern
– Rainer Maria Rilke

Do we have to feel that pixilated head
burning behind our eyes?the media
keep broadcasting a manacled muscular
torso signalling triumph over the dead

his fingers cocked to a smirkthe score
perhapsJacinda Ardern’s face
caught in a rictus of grief
can’t quite displace
the bluntness of his semaphore

on this darkest of days it feels like our worst fears
were always justifiedour impotence
out in the open for all to seeour pain

trumped by the old familiar reptile brain
but scrolling down those flowers those faces those tears
I can’t see them as nothingaren’t they us?


[19/3/19-12/3/20]



Louvre: Male Torso (4th-5th century BCE)

Clearly, this is an adaptation rather than a translation. Something about the stance of the suspect in the dock the morning after that appalling day in Christchurch reminded me of Rilke's 'Apollo'. There'd been a lot of online debate, too, about the appropriateness of the phrase 'they are us' coined by the Prime Minister straight after the terrorist attack. It seemed to me to embody an intentional paradox rather than to make any false claims for our actual inclusiveness as a society.

Archaïscher Torso Apollos

Wir kannten nicht sein unerhörtes Haupt,
darin die Augenäpfel reiften. Aber
sein Torso glüht noch wie ein Kandelaber,
in dem sein Schauen, nur zurückgeschraubt,

sich hält und glänzt. Sonst könnte nicht der Bug
der Brust dich blenden, und im leisen Drehen
der Lenden könnte nicht ein Lächeln gehen
zu jener Mitte, die die Zeugung trug.

Sonst stünde dieser Stein enstellt und kurz
unter der Shultern durchsichtigem Sturz
und flimmerte nicht so wie Raubtierfelle;

und brächte nicht aus allen seinen Rändern
aus wie ein Stern: denn da ist keine Stelle,
die dich nicht sieht. Du mußt dein Leben ändern.

[Rainer Maria Rilke. “Archaïscher Torso Apollos.” Neue Gedichte II (1908). In Ernst Zinn, ed. Sämtliche Werke. 6 vols (Frankfurt: Insel, 1987) 1: 557.]



Archaïscher Torso Apollos
Archaic Torso of Apollo

Wir kannten nicht sein unerhörtes Haupt,
We never knew his unheard-of head
darin die Augenäpfel reiften. Aber
where the eyeballs ripened. But
sein Torso glüht noch wie ein Kandelaber,
his torso still glows like a candelabra
in dem sein Schauen, nur zurückgeschraubt,
in which his gaze, only half-illuminated

sich hält und glänzt. Sonst könnte nicht der Bug
holds and dazzles. Otherwise the bow
der Brust dich blenden, und im leisen Drehen
of the breast wouldn’t join in, and the light twist
der Lenden könnte nicht ein Lächeln gehen
of the loins couldn’t lend a smile
zu jener Mitte, die die Zeugung trug.
to that centre, which holds fertility.

Sonst stünde dieser Stein enstellt und kurz
Otherwise this stone would be shut and cut short
unter der Shultern durchsichtigem Sturz
under the shoulders’ transparent fall
und flimmerte nicht so wie Raubtierfelle;
and would not flicker like a predator’s skin;

und brächte nicht aus allen seinen Rändern
and would not burst out on all sides
aus wie ein Stern: denn da ist keine Stelle,
like a star: since there’s no part
die dich nicht sieht. Du mußt dein Leben ändern.
which doesn’t see you. You must change your life.
For more literal translations of Rilke's poem, it might be best to compare the multiple versions here.







Rainer Maria Rilke (1875-1926)