You, my own deep soul,
trust me. I will not betray you.
My blood is alive with many voices
telling me I am made of longing.

What mystery breaks over me now?
In its shadow I come into life.
For the first time I am alone with you—

you, my power to feel.


From The Book of Hours I, 39




++++
Rilke's Book of Hours: Love Poems to God by Rainer Maria Rilke




“I live my life in widening circles that reach out across the world.” 
....
“I am too alone in the world, and yet not alone enough
to make every moment holy.
I am too tiny in this world, and not tiny enough
just to lie before you like a thing,
shrewd and secretive.
I want my own will, and I want simply to be with my will,
as it goes toward action;
and in those quiet, sometimes hardly moving times,
when something is coming near,
I want to be with those who know secret things
or else alone.
I want to be a mirror for your whole body,
and I never want to be blind, or to be too old
to hold up your heavy and swaying picture.
I want to unfold.
I don’t want to stay folded anywhere,
because where I am folded, there I am a lie.
and I want my grasp of things to be
true before you. I want to describe myself
like a painting that I looked at
closely for a long time,
like a saying that I finally understood,
like the pitcher I use every day,
like the face of my mother,
like a ship
that carried me
through the wildest storm of all.” 

....
“If we surrendered
to earth's intelligence
we could rise up rooted, like trees.” 
...
“I am circling around God, around the ancient tower, and I have been circling for a thousand years, and I still don't know if I am a falcon, or a storm, or a great song.” 
.....
“I love the dark hours of my being.
My mind deepens into them.
There I can find, as in old letters,
the days of my life, already lived,
and held like a legend, and understood.” 
....
“You see, I want a lot. 
Perhaps I want everything 
the darkness that comes with every infinite fall 
and the shivering blaze of every step up.
So many live on and want nothing 
And are raised to the rank of prince 
By the slippery ease of their light judgments
But what you love to see are faces 
that do work and feel thirst. 
You love most of all those who need you 
as they need a crowbar or a hoe. 
You have not grown old, and it is not too late 
To dive into your increasing depths 
where life calmly gives out its own secret.” 
....
“God speaks to each of us as he makes us,
then walks with us silently out of the night.

These are the words we dimly hear:

You, sent out beyond your recall,
go to the limits of your longing.
Embody me.

Flare up like a flame
and make big shadows I can move in.

Let everything happen to you: beauty and terror.
Just keep going. No feeling is final.
Don't let yourself lose me.

Nearby is the country they call life.
You will know it by its seriousness.

Give me your hand.” 
......
“I want my own will, and I want
simply to be with my will,
as it goes toward action.
And in the silent, sometimes hardly moving times,
when something is coming near,
I want to be with those who know
secret things or else alone...
I want to unfold.
I don’t want to be folded anywhere,
because where I am folded,
there I am a lie.” 
......

“If we surrendered
to earth’s intelligence
we could rise up rooted, like trees.

Instead we entangle ourselves
in knots of our own making
and struggle, lonely and confused.

So like children, we begin again...

to fall,
patiently to trust our heaviness.
Even a bird has to do that
before he can fly.” 
.....
“I live my life in growing orbits which move out over this wondrous world, I am circling around God, around ancient towers and i have been circling for a thousand years. And I still dont know if I am an eagle or a storm or a great song.” 
....
“I am much too alone in this world, yet not alone enough.” 
....
“I live my life in widening circle
That reach out across the world. 
I may not ever complete the last one,
But I give myself to it. 

I circle around God, that primordial tower.
I have been circling for thousands of years,
And I still don't know: am I a falcon,
A storm, or a great song? [I, 2]” 
.....
“You, darkness, of whom I am born- I love you more than the flame that limits the world to the circle it illumines and excludes the rest.” 

....
“So we are grasped by what we cannot grasp.” 
....
“I am a house gutted by fire where only the guilty sometimes sleep before the punishment that devours them hounds them out in the open. ” 
.....
“You, God, who live next door--

If at times, through the long night, I trouble you
with my urgent knocking--
this is why: I hear you breathe so seldom.
I know you're all alone in that room. 
If you should be thirsty, there's no one
to get you a glass of water.
I wait listening, always. Just give me a sign!
I'm right here...

Sen komşu tanrı,
Uzun geceler bazen,
Kapına vura vura uyandırıyorsam seni
Solumanı seyrek duyduğumdandır...
Bilirim, yalnızsın odanda.
Sana birşey gerekse kimse yok,
Bir yudum su versin aradığında.
Hep dinlerim, yeter ki bir ses edin,
Öyle yakınım sana...” 
....

“How surely gravity's law,
strong as an ocean current,
takes hold of the smallest thing
and pulls it toward the heart of the world.

Each thing---
each stone, blossom, child---
is held in place.
Only we, in our arrogance,
push out beyond what we each belong to
for some empty freedom.

If we surrendered
to earth's intelligence
we could rise up rooted, like trees.

Instead we entangle ourselves
in knots of our own making
and struggle, lonely and confused.

So like children, we begin again
to learn from the things,
because they are in God's heart;
they have never left him.

This is what the things can teach us:
to fall,
patiently to trust our heaviness.
Even a bird has to do that
before he can fly.” 
....
“I want to unfold.
I don’t want to be folded anywhere,
because where I am folded,
there I am a lie.” 
.....
“I would describe myself like a landscape I’ve studied at length, in detail; like a word I’m coming to understand; like a pitcher I pour from at mealtime; like my mother’s face; like a ship that carried me when the waters raged.” 
....
“You, yesterday’s boy,
to whom confusion came:
Listen, lest you forget who you are.

It was not pleasure you fell into. It was joy.
You were called to be bridegroom,
though the bride coming toward you is your shame.

What chose you is the great desire.
Now all flesh bares itself to you.

On pious images pale cheeks
blush with a strange fire.
Your senses uncoil like snakes
awakened by the beat of the tambourine.

Then suddenly you’re left all alone
with your body that can’t love you
and your will that can’t save you.

But now, like a whispering in dark streets,
rumors of God run through your dark blood.” 

....

“So many are alive who don’t seem to care. Casual, easy, they move in the world as though untouched.   But you take pleasure in the faces of those who know they thirst. You cherish those who grip you for survival.” 
.....

“Put out my eyes, and I can see you still;
slam my ears to, and I can hear you yet;
and without any feet can go to you;
and tongueless, I can conjure you at will.
Break off my arms, I shall take hold of you
and grasp you with my heart as with a hand;
arrest my heart, my brain will beat as true;
and if you set this brain of mine afire,
....
“She who reconciles the ill-matched threads of her life, and weaves them gratefully into a single cloth— it’s she who drives the loudmouths from the hall and clears it for a different celebration   where the one guest is you. In the softness of evening it’s you she receives.   You are the partner of her loneliness, the unspeaking center of her monologues. With each disclosure you encompass more and she stretches beyond what limits her, to hold you.” 
.....

“Onto a Vast Plain"

You are not surprised at the force of the storm—
you have seen it growing.
The trees flee. Their flight
sets the boulevards streaming. And you know:
he whom they flee is the one
you move toward. All your senses
sing him, as you stand at the window.

The weeks stood still in summer.
The trees’ blood rose. Now you feel
it wants to sink back
into the source of everything. You thought
you could trust that power
when you plucked the fruit:
now it becomes a riddle again
and you again a stranger.

Summer was like your house: you know
where each thing stood.
Now you must go out into your heart
as onto a vast plain. Now
the immense loneliness begins.

The days go numb, the wind
sucks the world from your senses like withered leaves.

Through the empty branches the sky remains.
It is what you have.
Be earth now, and evensong.
Be the ground lying under that sky.
Be modest now, like a thing
ripened until it is real,
so that he who began it all
can feel you when he reaches for you.” 
.....
“No, my life is not this precipitous hour
through which you see me passing at a run.” 
...
“I love the dark hours of my being.
My mind deepens into them. 
There I can find, as in old letters,
the days of my life, already lived,
and held like a legend, and understood.

Then the knowing comes: I can open 
to another life that’s wide and timeless. 

So I am sometimes like a tree
rustling over a gravesite 
and making real the dream 
of the one its living roots
embrace: 
a dream once lost 
among sorrows and songs.” 
....
“No waiting the beyond, no peering toward it,
but longing to degrade not even death;
we shall learn earthliness, and serve its ends,
to feel its hands about us like a friend's.” 

...

“I’m too alone in the world, yet not alone enough
to make each hour holy.
I’m too small in the world, yet not small enough
to be simply in your presence, like a thing—
just as it is.

I want to know my own will 
and to move with it. 
And I want, in the hushed moments
when the nameless draws near,
to be among the wise ones—
or alone. 

I want to mirror your immensity. 
I want never to be too weak or too old
to bear the heavy, lurching image of you. 

I want to unfold. 
Let no place in me hold itself closed, 
for where I am closed, I am false. 
I want to stay clear in your sight.” 
....
“For your sake poets sequester themselves,
gather images to churn the mind,
journey forth, ripening with metaphor, 
and all their lives they are so alone...

And painters paint their pictures only 
that the world, so transient as you made it,
can be given back to you, 
to last forever.

All becomes eternal. See: In the Mona Lisa 
some woman has long since ripened like wine,
and the enduring feminine is held there
through all the ages. 

Those who create are like you.
They long for the eternal. 
They say, Stone, be forever!
And that means: be yours.

And lovers also gather your inheritance.
They are the poets of one brief hour. 
They kiss an expressionless mouth into a smile
as if creating it anew, more beautiful. 

Awakening desire, they make a place
where pain can enter;
that’s how growing happens.
They bring suffering along with their laughter,
and longings that had slept and now awaken
to weep in a stranger’s arms.” 
....
“All who seek you
test you. 
And those who find you 
bind you to image and gesture. 
I would rather sense you
as the earth senses you. 
In my ripening
ripens what you are.” 
....
“Go To the Limits of Your Longing"

God speaks to each of us as he makes us,
then walks with us silently out of the night.

These are the words we dimly hear:

You, sent out beyond your recall,
go to the limits of your longing.
Embody me.

Flare up like a flame
and make big shadows I can move in.

Let everything happen to you: beauty and terror.
Just keep going. No feeling is final.

Don’t let yourself lose me.

Nearby is the country they call life.
You will know it by its seriousness.

Give me your hand.

Rania Maria Rilke, The Book of Hours

Let everything happen to you: beauty and terror.
Just keep going. No feeling is final.
Don’t let yourself lose me.

Nearby is the country they call life.
You will know it by it’s seriousness.

Give me your hand.” 
....
“Piously we produce our images of you
till they stand around you like a thousand walls.
And when our hearts would simply open, 
our fervent hands hide you.” 
...
“But when I lean over the chasm of myself—
it seems 
my God is dark
and like a web: a hundred roots
silently drinking. 

This is the ferment I grow out of. 

More I don’t know, because my branches
rest in deep silence, stirred only by the wind.” 
.....


++++
 Book of Hours 「時間之書」是誤譯

The Book of Hours

The collective title comes from the book of hours, a type of illuminated breviary popular in France in the later Middle Ages.^[3] These prayer and worship books were often decorated with illumination and so combined religious edification with art. They contained prayers for different times of the day and were designed to structure the day through regular devotion to God.

日文Goo 辭典對 Book of Hours

1. ((時に B- of H-)) (ローマカトリックで)時祷じとう書，(ギリシア正教で)時課経：定められている祈祷文や聖書の箇所など，(定)時課(canonical hours)の内容と順序を記した本.

天主教辭典：Book of Hours ：日課；祈禱書：是自中古時代起，隱修士開始（聖職人員及許多修會會士隨後跟進）每日使用的祈禱手冊，其中包括聖詠、聖歌、對經、祈禱文等。日課內容詳見 Breviary 。
 Breviary ：每日頌禱；時辰頌禱；日課經；日課；大日課；本分經：是教會的公共祈禱，亦即聖職人士、修會會士和熱心教友每日（七次）祈禱時所用的法定經書，藉此履行領洗時所接受的王者司祭職；主要由聖經、聖詠和聖人訓誨組成；共分為： (1) 誦讀日課（今稱），即晨經 Matins 。 (2) 晨禱，即讚美經 Lauds 。 (3) 日間祈禱，又分為：（甲）午前祈禱，即第三時辰經 Terce ；（乙）午時祈禱，即第六時辰經 Sext ；（丙）午後祈禱，即第九時辰經 None 。 (4) 晚禱，即晚經 Vespers 。 … 夜禱，即補充經 Compline 等部分。同 Liturgy of the Hours 或 Book of Hours 。拉丁文稱作 Breviarium 。