There are such days when my vision grows weary, and heart feels restless but arrested … and on such days I pray that poetry finds me … it usually does. Here it is for today:
His vision, from the constantly passing bars
has grown so weary that it cannot hold
anything else. It seems to him there are
a thousand bars; and behind the bars, no world.
As he paces in cramped circles, over and over,
the movement of his powerful soft strides
is like a ritual dance abound a center
in which a mighty will is paralyzed.
Only at times, the curtain of his pupils
lifts quietly. – And image enters in,
rushes down through the tense, arrested muscles
plunges into the heart and is gone. (by R M Rilke 1905)