Strange Arts & Visual Delights
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Culture is slow, destruction can be instantaneous. For years I have been trying to capture in English something of the rapidity and delicacy of Rilke's poem on the beautiful butterfly and two texts that cannot be read--the characters on the butterfly's wings and a love letter torn to shreds. My poem is perhaps less a translation than an approach, a homage, to his poem.
Beau papillon After Rainer Maria Rilke A butterfly near the ground lets attentive nature look at the illuminated letters in its flight book. Another folds its wings on the flower I breathe-- now’s not the time to read. Many others are flying: the azures scatter, floating and fluttering like scraps of blue paper from a love letter in the wind, the letter torn to shreds that I was writing for my beloved as she stood, hesitating, at my door.
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December 2024
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