A great master will often say better than what I can say myself.
So.
Favourite poet.
Favourite poem.
Death
by Rainer Maria Rilke
Come thou, thou last one, whom I recognize,
unbearable pain throughout this body’s fabric:
as I in my spirit burned, see, I now burn in thee:
the wood that long resisted the advancing flames
which thou kept flaring, I now am nourishing
and burn in thee.
My gentle and mild being through thy ruthless fury
has turned into a raging hell that is not from here.
Quite pure, quite free of future planning, I mounted
the tangled funeral pyre built for my suffering,
so sure of nothing more to buy for future needs,
while in my heart the stored reserves kept silent.
Is it still I, who there past all recognition burn?
Memories I do not seize and bring inside.
O life! O living! O to be outside!
And I in flames. And no one here who knows me.
I love it. The intent I had for this site was something along the lines of Laudator Temporis Acti (http://laudatortemporisacti.blogspot.com), where poetry, prose, art, philosophy, language, etc. (along with my ranting and such) got posted. So thank you for the contribution to that end.
Welcome to Fables Agreed Upon at dansanders.net. I'm a tech geek in Nashville, TN who is also interested in history, philosophy, science, religion, music, art, and the outdoors. I've gone from Christian-by-Osmosis to Confused Agnostic to Reluctant Atheist. Wasn't an easy journey. I'm always willing to talk about it, especially now that I no longer have the burden of proof. Married with one cat and one Jeep. I don't use my kayak enough, I don't work out as hard as I should, and I need to take more pictures.
A great master will often say better than what I can say myself.
So.
Favourite poet.
Favourite poem.
Death
by Rainer Maria Rilke
Come thou, thou last one, whom I recognize,
unbearable pain throughout this body’s fabric:
as I in my spirit burned, see, I now burn in thee:
the wood that long resisted the advancing flames
which thou kept flaring, I now am nourishing
and burn in thee.
My gentle and mild being through thy ruthless fury
has turned into a raging hell that is not from here.
Quite pure, quite free of future planning, I mounted
the tangled funeral pyre built for my suffering,
so sure of nothing more to buy for future needs,
while in my heart the stored reserves kept silent.
Is it still I, who there past all recognition burn?
Memories I do not seize and bring inside.
O life! O living! O to be outside!
And I in flames. And no one here who knows me.
I love it. The intent I had for this site was something along the lines of Laudator Temporis Acti (http://laudatortemporisacti.blogspot.com), where poetry, prose, art, philosophy, language, etc. (along with my ranting and such) got posted. So thank you for the contribution to that end.
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