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ishmael
10-11-2005, 06:31 PM
This is a tormented song. It's lament that no one hears him, his looking inside. So, he turns angry, like the god of the Hebrew testament, and wishes siege, torment like his own.

All of you undisturbed cities,
Haven't you ever longed for the Enemy?
I'd like to see you besieged by him
for ten endless ground-shaking years.

Until you were desperate and mad with suffering;
finally in hunger you would feel his weight.
He lies outside the walls like a countryside.
And he knows very well how to endure
longer than the ones he comes to visit.

Climb up on your roofs and look out:
His camp is there, and his morale doesn't falter,
and his numbers do not decrease; he willl not grow weaker,
and he sends no one into the city to threaten
or promise, and no one to negotiate.

He is the one who breaks down the walls,
And when he works, he works in silence.

LeeG
10-11-2005, 06:40 PM
that's too bad, he might go for a walk for some vegetable crab soup, maybe out by that camp he speaks of. Lots of bread then maybe a cup of coffee and chocolate rum cake for dessert.

captain's gig
10-11-2005, 08:04 PM
That Riiillke is one smart mother.

ishmael
10-11-2005, 08:18 PM
The Panther
In the Jardin des Plantes, Paris

From seeing the bars, his seeing is so exhausted
that it no longer holds anything anymore.
To him the world is bars, a hundred thousand
bars, and behind the bars, nothing.

The lithe swinging of that rhythmical easy stride
which circles down to the tiniest hub
is like a dance of energy around a point
in which a great will stands stunned and numb.

Only at times the curtains of the pupil rise
without a sound . . . then a shape enters,
slips through the tightened silence of the shoulders,
reaches the heart, and dies.

Rilke(Bly trans.)