Poem for the Week

The Gazelle by Rainer Maria Rilke (1907)

Tranced creature: no rhyme or ringing words
can match the pulse that rolls
through you like a charm. Horns spring
from your head, adorning you with leaf and lyre,

and you are your own metaphor,
just as the words of a love-song
are like a drift of rose-petals, closing
the eyes of a tired reader, so as to see you—

there—hair-triggered,
four legs pointed, ready
to recoil and ricochet away

but waiting, listening: just as
the bathing huntress heard the forest stir,
and turned, the quivering pool reflected in her face.

Leave a comment

Filed under Poetry

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s