I do not love you as if you were salt-rose, or topaz,or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off.I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,in secret, between the shadow and the soul. I love you as the plant that never blooms but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers; thanks to your love a certain solid fragrance, risen from the earth, lives darkly in my body.I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where. I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride; so I love you because I know no other way than this: where I does not exist, nor you, so close that your hand on my chest is my hand, so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep.

 


hannah's web

              hannah's web

 

谁记得一切,谁就会沉重

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This entry was posted on 3/27/2008 3:12 AM and is filed under uncategorized.

The one who remembers, the one who feels the weights.

 摘自《暗算》

 
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Comments

    • 4/14/2008 6:57 PM Anonymous wrote:
      Rilke's The Third Elegy

      To sing the beloved is one thing, another, oh,

      that hidden guilty river-god of the blood.

      What does he know, himself, of that lord of desire, her young lover, whom she knows distantly, who often out of his solitariness,

      before the girl soothed him, often, as if she did not exist,

      held up, dripping, from what unknowable depths,

      his godhead, oh, rousing the night to endless uproar?

      O Neptune of the blood, O his trident of terrors.

      O the dark storm-wind from his chest, out of the twisted conch.

      Hear, how the night becomes thinned-out and hollow. You, stars,

      is it not from you that the lover’s joy in the beloved’s

      face rises? Does he not gain his innermost insight,

      into her face’s purity, from the pure stars?

      http://www.tonykline.co.uk/PITBR/German/Rilke.htm#_Toc509812217
      Reply to this
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