at the slightest touch
New words cannot be found
only the old, looping
round and around.
Insanity can be found
here,
and here.
Pain, of course,
everywhere.
Reading Rilke,
I try to breathe
but am drowned
in his sea of beauty.
His sea, mind,
not mine,
And for the first time
I find myself
bitter.
- Shaista Tayabali, 2011
Horrible, horrible word, bitter. Poor Rilke. Poor me! But there it is.
The sculpture is Eve, by Auguste Rodin, 1881. You know how deeply and tempestuously Rilke and Rodin were entwined. It says of this piece ...'Resigned, sorrowful and tentative, Eve contains her emotion. She embodies a pessimistic view of human fate.' I am not pessimistic, just in pain.
The model for Eve left abruptly, so Rodin finished a second Eve. It is more refined. Too shiny and perfectly polished for me, though. I like the rough-hewn version.
