Rilke, Tombs of the Hetaerae
Tombs of the Hetaerae
by Rainer Maria Rilke
They lie in their long hair, their faces brown,
having departed deep into themselves.
Eyes closed as if before too vast a distance.
Skeletons, mouths, flowers. In their mouths
the polished teeth, like pocket chess game pieces
crafted of ivory, laid out in rows.
And flowers, yellowed pearls, and slender bones,
hands and tunics, fading, shriveled fabrics
over the caved-in hearts. However, there
beneath those rings and talismans and stones
as blue as eyes (cherished remembrances)
still stands the silent grave-crypt of the sex,
filled to its vaulted roof with flower petals.
And, once more, yellowed pearls, rolled far apart—
cups of terra cotta, whose curved front
their portrait had adorned, shattered green shards
of ointment vases with a smell like flowers,
and shapes of little gods: from household altars,
hetaerae-heavens with delighted gods.
Broken belts, flat scarab stones, and small
figurines with giant phalluses,
a laughing mouth and dancing girls and runners,
golden fibulae like little bows
for hunting beasts—and bird-shaped amulets,
long needles, decorated household objects,
and a round shard of red background, on which,
like an obscure inscription on an entrance,
appear the straining legs of a four-horse team.
And once more, flowers, pearls that have rolled loose,
the brightly shining loins of a little lyre,
and in between the veils that fall like mists,
as if it crept from the pupa of the shoe,
the ankle’s insubstantial butterfly.
So they lie—filled to the brim with things,
precious things, gems, playthings, household goods,
shattered trinkets (all that was dropped inside them)—
and darken like the bottom of a river.
And riverbeds they were,
over whom in rapid, fleeting waves
(which wanted to press on to the next life)
the bodies of so many young men fell,
in whom the torrents of the grown men roared.
And sometimes boys emerged from the peaks of childhood,
descended down in tentative cascades,
and played around with the things upon the streambed
until the sloping incline seized their senses:
then they filled up with clear and shallow water
the whole expanse of this expansive channel,
and swirled with eddies in the deeper places,
and for the first time, mirrored riverbanks
and far-off calls of birds—while, high above,
the starry nights of a delightful country
grew into heavens that never closed at all.
Revisions:
S2L2 was "precious objects, gemstones, playthings, housewares,"
S3L8 was "and played around with objects on the streambed"
Hetären-Gräber
In ihren langen Haaren liegen sie
mit braunen, tief in sich gegangenen Gesichtern.
Die Augen zu wie vor zu vieler Ferne.
Skelette, Munde, Blumen. In den Munden
die glatten Zähne wie ein Reise-Schachspiel
aus Elfenbein in Reihen aufgestellt.
Und Blumen, gelbe Perlen, schlanke Knochen,
Hände und Hemden, welkende Gewebe
über dem eingestürzten Herzen. Aber
dort unter jenen Ringen, Talismanen
und augenblauen Steinen (Lieblings-Angedenken)
steht noch die stille Krypta des Geschlechtes,
bis an die Wölbung voll mit Blumenblättern.
Und wieder gelbe Perlen, weitverrollte, -
Schalen gebrannten Tones, deren Bug
ihr eignes Bild geziert hat, grüne Scherben
von Salben-Vasen, die wie Blumen duften,
und Formen kleiner Götter: Hausaltäre,
Hetärenhimmel mit entzückten Göttern.
Gesprengte Gürtel, flache Skarabäen,
kleine Figuren riesigen Geschlechtes,
ein Mund der lacht und Tanzende und Läufer,
goldene Fibeln, kleinen Bogen ähnlich
zur Jagd auf Tier- und Vogelamulette,
und lange Nadeln, zieres Hausgeräte
und eine runde Scherbe roten Grundes,
darauf, wie eines Eingangs schwarze Aufschrift,
die straffen Beine eines Viergespannes.
Und wieder Blumen, Perlen, die verrollt sind,
die hellen Lenden einer kleinen Leier,
und zwischen Schleiern, die gleich Nebeln fallen,
wie ausgekrochen aus des Schuhes Puppe:
des Fußgelenkes leichter Schmetterling.
So liegen sie mit Dingen angefüllt,
kostbaren Dingen, Steinen, Spielzeug, Hausrat,
zerschlagnem Tand (was alles in sie abfiel),
und dunkeln wie der Grund von einem Fluss.
Flussbetten waren sie,
darüber hin in kurzen schnellen Wellen
(die weiter wollten zu dem nächsten Leben)
die Leiber vieler Jünglinge sich stürzten
und in denen der Männer Strüme rauschten.
Und manchmal brachen Knaben aus den Bergen
der Kindheit, kamen zagen Falles nieder
und spielten mit den Dingen auf dem Grunde,
bis das Gefälle ihr Gefühl ergriff:
Dann füllten sie mit flachem klaren Wasser
die ganze Breite dieses breiten Weges
und trieben Wirbel an den tiefen Stellen;
und spiegelten zum ersten Mal die Ufer
und ferne Vogelrufe -, während hoch
die Sternennächte eines süßen Landes
in Himmel wuchsen, die sich nirgends schlossen.
Literal translation:
Tombs of Hetaerae
In their long hair they lie
with brown faces, having gone deep within themselves.
Their eyes shut, as if before too great distances.
Skeletons, mouths, flower. In their mouths
the smooth teeth, like a travel chess set
of ivory set out in rows.
And flowers, yellow pearls, slender bones,
hands and tunics, withering fabric
above the caved-in hearts. But
there beneath those rings, talismans,
and eye-blue stones (beloved mementoes)
still stands the silent crypt of the sex,
filled up to the arch with flower petals.
And again yellow pearls, rolled far apart—
cups of terra cotta, whose curve
their own portrait adorned, green fragments
of ointment vases, which smelled like flowers,
and shapes of little gods: household altars,
hetaerae-heavens with delighted gods.
Broken belts, flat scarabs,
small figures with giant sexes,
a laughing mouth and dancers and runners,
golden fibulas like small bows
for hunting for animals—and bird-shaped amulets,
and long needles, decorated housewares,
and a round fragment of red background,
on which, like an entrance’s dark inscription,
the straining legs of a four-horse team.
And again flowers, pearls that have rolled loose,
the bright loins of a small lyre,
and between veils that fall like mists,
as if crept out of a shoe’s chrysalis,
the ankle’s delicate butterfly.
So they lie, filled up with things,
precious things, stones, playthings, household goods,
broken trinkets (all that was dropped into them),
and darkening like the bottom of a river.
Riverbeds they were,
over whom in brief, rapid waves
(that wanted to go on to the next life)
the bodies of many young men plunged,
and in whom the torrents of grown men roared.
And sometimes boys burst from the mountains
of childhood, descended in timid cascades,
and played with the objects on the streambed
until the slope’s incline seized their senses:
Then they filled with shallow, clear water
the whole breadth of this broad way,
and drove eddies into the deep places,
and for the first time mirrored the riverbanks
and distant birdcalls—while high above
the starry nights of a sweet country
grew into heavens, which never closed.
Last edited by Susan McLean; 02-26-2022 at 07:48 AM.
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