Reluctantly we set down
As Rilke’s autumn is falling
As are his hand and my eyes
Somebody up there
Is holding the earth up
And the sky and the stars
And all from falling
Except in the Leopold café
Here bodies fall from behind
We have just eaten roti
Should we now eat rice?
If only we knew that
Rice would make us fall.
A young man with rucksack
Has his view, other thoughts
He does not approve rice
There is a gleam in his eye
He likes bodies autumn-falling.
"Just as in a field a herd of cows
will lean and clang their copper cauldrons
like the rain, with dawn breaking pink
upon their bangles, and stand there blotched,
humbled and hindered by their own sound,
and crumple their knees, dumbstruck,
while every jerk of their backs and involuntary
gesture registers the ringing of a bell,
so this old woman stood behind a mountain
spruce, struck by something in the field,
a row of phlox or patch of bluebell,
holding her spray of yellow gentians,
while that great ball shifted on her neck,
ripe as a stitch of loganberry."
The simile of the herd of cows is visually effective use of imagery .The beauty of the poem is in the extendedness of the image used with a word-picture beautifully created as though it is from a painting in the living room.Imagine the placid countryside and a herd of cows leaning towards one another with the copper cauldrons clanging ( like rain ,another image within the image),with dawn breaking pink upon their bangles .The cows are standing there blotched,humbled ,and hindered by their own sound(the poet is perhaps referring to the blotches of shadows on the cows)and the involuntary jerks on their bodies caused by their reactions to the clang of the cauldrons as they move their heads.
While the image of the cows is elaborate ,the old woman is described with the same amount of vividness .She stands behind a mountain and is struck by something in the field,a row of phlox or patch of bluebell ,holding a spray of gentians ,while the goitre on her neck shifts as a stich of loganberry.
The vividness of the description of the cows and the old woman is almost painting-like.
For Hans Carossa
By Rilke
"Losing too is still ours; and even forgetting
still has a shape in the kindgdom of transformation.
When something's let go of, it circles; and though
we are rarely the center of the circle,
it draws around us its unbroken, marvelous curve."
First ,when I saw the poem I thought Rilke was being merely clever .With usages like "losing too is still ours" I thought Rilke was out of form.In the second line Rilke got back to his original form. So I think. Forgetting still has a shape in the kingdom of transformation sounded so much like an epigrammatic saying. But actually it comes out as a poetic image if you look at it closely.Reality is built by consciousness which works only by remembering .Things exist only if your mind perceives them. Forgetting things is consciousness not recognising reality which means that forgetting has no shape or feel but in the world of constant flux when matter remains the same but only transforms into other matter or energy forgetting does not mean things losing their shape or form .The forgetting of things continues to circle around us although we may not be the at the centre of the circle . We are not the centrifuges in which energy flows from the centre to the perimeter but the curve remains around us impinging on us.
from my bed
I watch
3 birds
on a telephone
wire.
one flies
off.
then
another.
one is left,
then
it too
is gone.
my typewriter is
tombstone
still.
and I am
reduced to bird
watching.
just thought I'd
let you
know,
fucker.
A very matter-of-fact style. The irony is what stands out. The only important image-"my typewriter is tombstone" brings out the frustrating creative block that the poet is experiencing.The birds leaving the telephone wire one by one -a repetitive activity recalls the classical story that never ends-one sparrow picks up the grain,then another and so on and the story goes on till late into the night. The writer's block is humourously turned into a subject for a poem : "just thought I would let you know,fucker"
The world is a beautiful place
to be born into
if you don't mind happiness
not always being
so very much fun
if you don't mind a touch of hell
now and then
just when everything is fine
because even in heaven
they don't sing
all the time
The world is a beautiful place
to be born into
if you don't mind some people dying
all the time
or maybe only starving
some of the time
which isn't half bad
if it isn't you
Oh the world is a beautiful place
to be born into
if you don't much mind
a few dead minds
in the higher places
or a bomb or two
now and then
in your upturned faces
or such other improprieties
as our Name Brand society
is prey to
with its men of distinction
and its men of extinction
and its priests
and other patrolmen
and its various segregations
and congressional investigations
and other constipations
that our fool flesh
is heir to
Yes the world is the best place of all
for a lot of such things as
making the fun scene
and making the love scene
and making the sad scene
and singing low songs and having inspirations
and walking around
looking at everything
and smelling flowers
and goosing statues
and even thinking
and kissing people and
making babies and wearing pants
and waving hats and
dancing
and going swimming in rivers
on picnics
in the middle of the summer
and just generally
'living it up'
Yes
but then right in the middle of it
comes the smiling
mortician
