Letters & Essays
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The rain is speaking quietly,you can sleep now.
I have my dead, and I have let them go,and was amazed to see them so contented,so soon at home in being dead, so cheerful,
Now shall I praise the cities, those long-surviving(I watched them in awe) great constellations of earth.For only in praising is my heart still mine, so violently
You who never arrivedin my arms, beloved, who were lostfrom the start,
We are not permitted to linger, even with what is mostintimate. From images that are full, the spirit’sstream plunges down to others that suddenly must be filled;
Often I gazed at you in wonder: stood at the window begunthe day before, stood and gazed at you in wonder. As yet the new townseemed denied to me, and the unpersuaded landscape kept darkening
There stands death, a bluish distillatein a cup without a saucer. Such a strangeplace to find a cup: standing on
What birds plunge through is not the intimate spacein which you see all forms intensified.(Out in the Open, you would be denied
World was in the face of the beloved.Suddenly it poured out and was gone:world is outside, world cannot be grasped.
Oh the losses into the All, Marina, the stars that are falling!We can’t make it larger, wherever we fling ourselves, to whateverstar we may go! In the Whole, all things are already numbered.
Oh tear-filled one who, like a sky held back,grows heavy above the landscape of her sorrow.And when she weeps, the gentle raindrops fall,
Other vessels hold wine, other vessels hold oilinside the hollowed-out vault circumscribed by their clay.I, as a smaller measure, and as the slimmest of all,