The Panther
His view, from going back and forth over the bars,
Has become so tired that he no longer sees. To him, it is as if there are a thousand bars And behind the thousand bars no world exists. The controlled gait, and the lithe, powerful striding, The endless pacing in the smallest of circles, It is like a dance of strength about a center In which the greatest of wills stands imprisoned. And even when, just for a moment, his eyelids Lift themselves silently, and an image enters, It travels through the tense stillness of his body And upon reaching his heart, it ceases to be. By Rainer Maria Rilke Translated by D.R., May 2017 |