Der Schauende is the poem of Rilkes to which I alluded. It was written when he was only 26 years old, and has emotional and intellectual limitations which Rilke largely circumvented or overcame in the last half of his life. I scanned my computer files for the title "Der Schauende", and found a letters dated 11/15/2007 to Cynthia Behrman - whom you met in Canaan NY 5 years ago. I'm like Narcissus, in that I enjoy rereading my own writing. I append the relevant paragraphs. Please feel no obligation to read them, certainly no obligation to comment. "This morning I completed another round-trip from Nantucket. Last night I was up until about 10:30, writing and reading; then my deep-cycle battery which I use to provide, by means of an inverter, 120 V electricity for reading and computing, ran down. I think it has developed a defect which prevents it from holding its charge. In the darkness, there was nothing to do but crawl into the sleeping bag. I awoke at midnight and again at three a.m., went back to sleep and would have missed my boat had not Margaret dutifully telephoned me at 4:30 a.m. I had packed the van the night before, and having slept in my clothes, I had only to find and lace my shoes. I turned the sleeping bag inside out to air, and hung it on its nail high on the wall, so as not to touch the floor gritty with a mixture of sawdust and sand. I locked the front door and negotiated my way across the two open trenches, and drove out into the blackness. It helps to know the way, given that the road is narrow, serpentine and poorly marked. I arrived at the wharf early, at ten of five. The large hulk of the ferry was moored at the dock, brightly illuminated. The night watchman sauntered over to investigate. We know each other. He is a comic character, a bald head and a drawling voice with a sense of humor and style which belong in a Shakespeare comedy. "You got here just in time," I said, "I was about to steal your ship." "Oh, yeah," he replied,"Not on my watch. On the other fellow's. Got your license plate light fixed?","Nope", "Why not?" "Inspection doesn't require a license plate light.""Here on Nantucket they do. If the police catch you without a license plate light, you're in big trouble.""Here on Nantucket you got to have a permit to breathe," I commented. "Yeah," he said, "And then they charge you for the air. You're early. You're not supposed to be here until five o'clock. Go to the beach, there's lots of beaches around.""OK," I said, "I'll gat out of your way and take a swim." As I was about to drive off he relented. "You can stay right here," he said. "The kid to check you in should be here in ten minutes. I got to make my rounds." He sauntered off. Subsequent to the checking in which is a formal confirmation of the reservation by the Authority's computer, there is another wait of about twenty minutes, until the employees wave you on. Again I stayed in the car and slept all the way to Hyannis. I had arrived with Klemens on Sunday. He had come along to help me pull the sumbersible pump out of the well for the purpose of installing a pitless adapter. I couldn't have managed by myself. He also helped me move the pressure tank into the basement, and collected the shingles scattered about from the storm, neatly stacking them at the outer edge of the construction clearing. The dump accepts only small quantities at a time, and I hope the wind doesn't play with them before they are all disposed of. Klemens spent the night. He went back on Monday. I took him to the twelve o'clock boat. Appreciative as I am of the challenge, it was a relief not to have to accommodate myself to Tim's whims and wishes. Of the three and a half days that I was there, I spent all the daylight hours working. There is a great deal more to do, so much in fact, that when I reflect on what needs to be done, it seems impossible that I should be able to do it. But I consider it a very reasonable, constructive and edifying project, whether I can accomplish it or not, for spending the physical and emotional resources left to me. I sometimes think wistfully how liberating a "Stop Work" order from the building inspector would seem to me. I relish the dialectic and the irony. As I look over my notes, I find recently copied from the Internet, a poem of Rilke's "Der Schauende" of which I was reminded by the storm that stripped the shingles off the north face of our Nantucket roof. It was one of my mother's favorite poems, and Klemens read it when we buried her ashes. I had considered translating it for you, but the idiom is to dense and powerful, that my literary abilities are not up to the task. You can skip it, or consider it a German lesson. The best I can do is to paraphrase what I think it means. Rainer Maria Rilke Das Buch der Bilder Zweites Buch Der Schauende Ich sehe den Baeumen die Stuerme an, die aus laugewordenen Tagen an meine aengstlichen Fenster schlagen, und hoere die Fernen Dinge sagen, die ich nicht ohne Freund ertragen, nicht ohne Schwester lieben kann. Da geht der Sturm, ein Umgestalter, geht durch den Wald und durch die Zeit, und alles ist wie ohne Alter: die Landschaft, wie ein Vers im Psalter, ist Ernst und Wucht und Ewigkeit. Wie ist das klein, womit wir ringen, was mit uns ringt, wie ist das gross; liessen wir, aehnlicher den Dingen, uns so vom grossen Sturm bezwingen, - wir wuerden weit und namenlos. Was wir besiegen, ist das Kleine, und der Erfolg selbst macht uns klein. Das Ewige und Ungemeine will nicht von uns gebogen sein. Das ist der Engel, der den Ringern des Alten Testaments erschien: wenn seiner Widersacher Sehnen im Kampfe sich metallen dehnen, fuehlt er sie unter seinen Fingern wie Saiten tiefer Melodien. Wen dieser Engel ueberwand, welcher so oft auf Kampf verzichtet, der geht gerecht und aufgerichtet und gross aus jener harten Hand, die sich, wie formend, an ihn schmiegte. Die Siege laden ihn nicht ein. Sein Wachstum ist: der Tiefbesiegte von immer Groesserem zu sein. The title, "Der Schauende" is best translated as "The Beholder", not exactly colloquial English. For me the seminal use of the term is in Luther's translation of Isaiah: "Schauet doch und sehet ..." "Behold and see ..." Significant, I think, that Rilke purports not to describe the storm itself, but the experience which the storm evokes in an observer. "Ich sehe den Baeumen die Stuerme an" I see in (the deformity of) the trees the storms (which have battered them). "die aus laugewordenen Tagen" which from warmer climates, [literally from days which have become tepid (lau)], "an meine aengstlichen Fenster schlagen" beat against my timid windows, "und hoere die Fernen Dinge sagen" and hear messages from afar [literally: hear the Distances say things] "die ich nicht ohne Freund ertragen, nicht ohne Schwester lieben kann." which I cannot bear without a friend, which I cannot love without a sister. This couplet has always embarrassed and offended me as being contrived and precious; I read it now in a different perspective having observed the transformation of Tim LeBlanc's aloof, aggressive hostility, into confiding camaraderie at the height of the storm. "Da geht der Sturm, ein Umgestalter, Geht durch den Wald und durch die Zeit." "Da geht" is an expression of observation, there goes the storm, a transformer, i.e. one that changes the configuration (of the world), moves through the forest, and through time. I read this as a reflection of the physicists' couplet of space and time, the deformation of the forest being the spatial manifestation of the storm, its effect in suspending time is decribed in the following lines: "und alles ist wie ohne Alter:" everything becomes ageless "die Landschaft, wie ein Vers im Psalter, ist Ernst und Wucht und Ewigkeit." Landscape, like a verse in scripture, is gravity, force and eternity. "Wie ist das klein, womit wir ringen, was mit uns ringt, wie ist das gross;" How petty that with which we wrestle How great is that which wrestles us. "liessen wir, aehnlicher den Dingen, uns so vom grossen Sturm bezwingen, - wir wuerden weit und namenlos." If only we, more like the objects (of nature) permitted ourselves to be vanquished by the great storm, we should become unfathomable and anonymous. "Was wir besiegen, ist das Kleine, und der Erfolg selbst macht uns klein. Das Ewige und Ungemeine will nicht von uns gebogen sein." What we vanquish is petty, and success itself makes us small That which is eternal and tremendous will not let itself be bent by us. "Das ist der Engel, der den Ringern des Alten Testaments erschien:" That is the angel that appeared to the wrestlers of the Old Testament. wenn seiner Widersacher Sehnen im Kampfe sich metallen dehnen, fuehlt er sie unter seinen Fingern wie Saiten tiefer Melodien. when his opponents sinews in battle stretch like metal, he feels them under his fingers as strings of deep melodies. Wen dieser Engel ueberwand, welcher so oft auf Kampf verzichtet, He who was vanquished by this angel who (the angel) so commonly disdains to battle, der geht gerecht und aufgerichtet und gross aus jener harten Hand, die sich, wie formend, an ihn schmiegte. he proceeds just and upright and grand out from that flinty hand which, as if forming, nestled him. (I am reminded of Rodin's sculpture, "The Hand of God" which depicts a small human being nestled in an enormous palm. Rilke served for some years as Rodin's secretary, wrote a book about him, and undoubtely became familiar with the sculpture. Whether the chronology fits, I haven't investigated. I would be surprised, however, if Rodin was ever motivated to a sculpture by any poem of Rilke's.) Die Siege laden ihn nicht ein. Sein Wachstum ist: der Tiefbesiegte von immer Groesserem zu sein. Victories do not invite him. He flourishes as deeply vanquished by ever greater power. ========================== My feelings about this poem are mixed. It is ineluctably part of my family's tradition. But as I read it, I taste sour grapes and making a virtue of necessity, a brand of spiritual dishonesty that I try more and more to avoid, the older I get.