Sunday, February 13, 2011

Rilke's "Apollo's Archaic Torso"

Apollo's Archaic Torso

We cannot know his incredible head,
where the eyes ripened like apples,
yet his torso still glows like a candelabrum,
from which his gaze, however dimmed,

still persists and gleams. If this were not so,
the bow of his breast could not blind you,
nor could a smile, steered by the gentle curve
of his loins, glide to the centre of procreation.

And this stone would seem disfigured and stunted,
the shoulders descending into nothing,
unable to glisten like a predator's pelt,

or burst out from its confines and radiate
like a star: for there is no angle from which
it cannot see you. You have to change your life.

translated by Sarah Stutt

"[the] primordial act of hospitality is echoed in every poem when it invites the reader to enter its domain. It is repeated every time a piece of sculpture offers its world to a viewer and every time a temple invites a believer to enter its premise and to encounter the god. A work of art is born every time a generous host creates a hospitable place and bids his guests, his readers, his viewers or his audience, to cross the threshold and to participate in a conversation. The work of art will last as long as there are guests who will gather under its roof and as long as the desire remains alive to continue the conversation among neighbors and across the generations."