Autumn
Rilke Translation
Lord: it’s time. After the long, tall summer,
lay your shadow on the sundials,
let loose your wind on the fields.
Command the last fruits to be full,
give them two more southern days,
press them to perfection,
seek the last sweetness in the heavy wine.
Whoever has no house builds no more.
Whoever is alone remains lonely for the season,
wakes, reads, writes long letters without reason,
wanders restless up and down roads,
when all around, autumn leaves blow.
translated by David S.
Hope and lack echo in this powerful poem, starting as a prayer and ending as a definition of isolation.
May the opposite be true for you this holiday season — may your home be warm and safe, may you find connection, may you read and write with purpose. May you wander, but wander with restful, replenishing steps.
If you are going through the season where all seems to have fallen and falling, peace to you — you are not alone. I too feel ghosts walking beside me, sitting at the empty seats of the kitchen table, singing silent in the Christmas choir.
When your eyes close, remember times of joy as well as sadness. Remember laughter, remember belonging.
Name the pain. Number the losses. But don’t cling to what is no longer yours to hold. Remember, lament, release.
Define what you are searching for. . .that when it returns, you may welcome it.
Mary Oliver says, “I look; morning and night I am never done with looking. Looking means not just standing around, but standing around as with your arms open.”
Open your arms as the autumn leaves fall. . .not to hold them, but to feel them, to let them bump into you, and you into them — a beautiful reminder of what has come, what has gone, and what will come again.
The last verse in Autumn is the hardest to translate. I agree with most translators that Rilke means that the leaves are blowing and going. But the same word for drift, drive, blow also means “to sprout.”
The ending could be the beginning.
Herr: es ist Zeit. Zer Sommer war sehr groß.
Leg deinen Schatten auf die Sonnenuhren,
und auf den Fluren laß die Wind los.
Befiehl den letzten Fruchten voll zu sein:
Gibe ihnen noch zwei südlichere Tage,
Drange sie zur Vollendung hin und jage
Die letzte Süße in der Schweren Wein.
Wer jetzt kein Haus hat, baut sich Keines mehr.
Wer jetzt allein ist, wird es lange blieben
Wird wachen, lesen, lange Briefe schreiben,
und wird in den Alleen hin und her
unruhig wandern, wenn die Blätter trieben.
