Climbing the slope beneath grey leaves he just seemed grey and tousled like the olive-trees.
He hid his burning forehead streaked with dust in hands as grey and dusty as the trees.
This after all. The end of the affair.
I'm going on while I am going blind and wondering why You make me say You're there when You are now impossible to find.
I can no longer find You. You're unknown.
Not in me. Nor in others. Nor this stone.
I can no longer find You. I'm alone.
I'm all alone with all man's pain and grief.
Through You I was supposed to bring relief.
You're nowhere. I'm a charlatan and thief.
We're told an angel came. That's past belief – And why an angel? Nothing came but night rustling so casually through the trees.
The disciples stirred. Their dreams incurred disease.
And why an angel? Nothing came but night.
The night that came was not unusual.
Hundreds have come and gone that way.
Dogs kept on sleeping. All the stones stayed still.
One sad night passed like any other till a normal dawn brought on another day.
Angels don't come to those who pray like me and nights will give significance to the rest.
All's lost to those who've lost themselves. At best their fathers will disown them and decree they're banned from sheltering on their mother's breast.
Rainer Maria Rilke Der Ölbaum-Garten translated by Harry Guest The poem is from Rilke’s Neue Gedichte (1907). Harry Guest is an Honorary Research Fellow at Exeter University. Among his works A Puzzling Harvest: Collected Poems 1955–2000 (2002) and Some Times (2010) are both published by Anvil Press (London).
Translated by Harry Guest. From Neue Gedichte (1907).