Rainer Maria Rilke – A Sybil

Long before our time they called her old,
But she’d walk down the same road every day.
Her age became too much to say
In years — and, like a forest’s, would be told

In centuries. She comes to stand at dusk —
Her spot each time the same — and to foretell.
She is a hollow, wrinkled husk,
Dark as a fire-gutted citadel.

She has to turn her flock of talking loose
Or it will grow too crowded to relieve.
Flapping and screaming, words are flying all

Around her. Then, returning home to roost,
They find a perch beneath her eyebrows’ eaves,
And in that shadow wait for night to fall.

Rilke mit Baladine Klossowska auf Muzot, 1923 in My Photos by
Rilke and Baladine Klossowska, 1923

 

Advertisements

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