December 30, 2011

Last Thing

The Artist at the Window

Come, you last thing. I recognize you,
unholy agony in the body's weave.
Just as I burned in my mind, now I burn in you.
The wood has long resisted, holding back
from the flames you ignite—
now I feed you and blaze in you.
In the grip of your rage my natural mildness
becomes a raging hell, unlike anything.
Quite pure, free of all thoughts,
I climb the twisted pyre of future suffering,
knowing now that there is nothing I can purchase
for the comfort of this heart. All its learnings now are silent.
Is it still I who burn beyond recognition?
I will not drag memories inside.
Oh Life, Life: to be outside.
I am in flames. No one who knows me.

Last entry in Rilke's last notebook,
included among his uncollected poems


  1. Darn. I missed the entire year...just stumbled onto this via Twitter...I've never heard of Rilke...but thanks to your blog I can read more. Seems lovely and inspiring.

    Happy New Year!

  2. Makes me think of Steve Jobs

  3. If only I could be awake to it all the time, every split second!

  4. Oh ...To be in Flames...Like the sufi Monks


"Everything is blooming most recklessly; if it were voices instead of colors, there would be an unbelievable shrieking into the heart of the night."

~ Rainer Maria Rilke

Go ahead, bloom recklessly!