究竟有谁在天使的阵营倾听，倘若我呼唤？
甚至设想，一位天使突然攫住我的心：
他更强悍的存在令我晕厥，因为美无非是
可怕之物的开端，我们尚可承受，
我们如此欣赏它，因为它泰然自若，
不屑于毁灭我们。每一位天使都是可怕的。
甚至设想，一位天使突然攫住我的心：
他更强悍的存在令我晕厥，因为美无非是
可怕之物的开端，我们尚可承受，
我们如此欣赏它，因为它泰然自若，
不屑于毁灭我们。每一位天使都是可怕的。
所以我抑制自己，咽下阴暗悲泣的召唤。
啊，我们究竟能够求靠谁？天使不行，
人也不行，机灵的动物已经察觉，
在这个被人阐释的世界，我们的栖居
不太可靠。也许有一棵树为我们留在山坡，
我们每天看见它；昨天的街道
为我们留驻，一个习惯培养成忠诚，
它喜欢我们这里，于是留下来不曾离去。
啊，我们究竟能够求靠谁？天使不行，
人也不行，机灵的动物已经察觉，
在这个被人阐释的世界，我们的栖居
不太可靠。也许有一棵树为我们留在山坡，
我们每天看见它；昨天的街道
为我们留驻，一个习惯培养成忠诚，
它喜欢我们这里，于是留下来不曾离去。
哦，还有黑夜，黑夜，当携满宇宙空间的风
耗蚀着我们的脸庞——，夜岂不留驻人寰，
让人渴望，又令人略感失望，
哪一颗心不是艰难地面临它。恋人会轻松一些？
啊，他们不过相互掩蔽他们的命运。
耗蚀着我们的脸庞——，夜岂不留驻人寰，
让人渴望，又令人略感失望，
哪一颗心不是艰难地面临它。恋人会轻松一些？
啊，他们不过相互掩蔽他们的命运。
你难道还不相信？那就从怀中抛出虚空，
抛向我们呼吸的空间；或许飞鸟
以更内向的飞翔感觉到更辽阔的天空。
—里尔克《杜伊诺哀歌》（林克译）
Who,
if I cried out, would hear me among the angels’ hierarchies?
and even if one
of them pressed me suddenly against his heart:
I would be consumed in that
overwhelming existence.
For beauty is nothing but the beginning of terror,
which we are still just able to endure,
and we are so awed because it
serenely disdains to annihilate us.
Every angel is terrifying.
抛向我们呼吸的空间；或许飞鸟
以更内向的飞翔感觉到更辽阔的天空。
—里尔克《杜伊诺哀歌》（林克译）
Who,
if I cried out, would hear me among the angels’ hierarchies?
and even if one
of them pressed me suddenly against his heart:
I would be consumed in that
overwhelming existence.
For beauty is nothing but the beginning of terror,
which we are still just able to endure,
and we are so awed because it
serenely disdains to annihilate us.
Every angel is terrifying.
And so I hold myself back and swallow the call-note of my
dark sobbing.
Ah, whom can we ever turn to in our need?
Not angels, not
humans, and already the knowing animals are aware
that we are not really at
home in our interpreted world.
Perhaps there remains for us some tree on a
hillside, which every day we can take into our vision;
there remains for us
yesterday’s street and the loyalty of a habit so much at ease
when it stayed
with us that it moved in and never left.
dark sobbing.
Ah, whom can we ever turn to in our need?
Not angels, not
humans, and already the knowing animals are aware
that we are not really at
home in our interpreted world.
Perhaps there remains for us some tree on a
hillside, which every day we can take into our vision;
there remains for us
yesterday’s street and the loyalty of a habit so much at ease
when it stayed
with us that it moved in and never left.
Oh and night: there is night, when a wind full of infinite
space gnaws at our faces.
Whom would it not remain for–that longed-after,
mildly disillusioning presence,
which the solitary heart so painfully
meets.
Is it any less difficult for lovers?
But they keep on using each
other to hide their own fate.
space gnaws at our faces.
Whom would it not remain for–that longed-after,
mildly disillusioning presence,
which the solitary heart so painfully
meets.
Is it any less difficult for lovers?
But they keep on using each
other to hide their own fate.
Don’t you know yet?
Fling the emptiness out of your
arms into the spaces we breathe;
perhaps the birds will feel the expanded air
with more passionate
flying.
Duino Elegies, by Rainer Maria
Rilke. Translated by Stephen Mitchell
Fling the emptiness out of your
arms into the spaces we breathe;
perhaps the birds will feel the expanded air
with more passionate
flying.
Duino Elegies, by Rainer Maria
Rilke. Translated by Stephen Mitchell