Reading Rilke by William H. Gass

this … It is that … Soon I may know too much for my own good, and be tempted to offer the reader an apple from my tree of knowledge. One is generally wise to render the poem as the poet wrote it and let the poet’s poem explain itself. Generally …
    2
It was nearly a girl who went forth
from this joyful union of song and lyre,
and shone so clearly through the veils of her youth,
and made herself a bed within my ear.
And slept in me. And all slept inside her sleep:
the trees which had always amazed me,
meadow-deep distances as touchable as skin,
and every astonishment that has ever been.
She slept the world. Singing God,
how could you have made her so complete
she never wanted to be first awake?
See: she rose and slept.
Where is her death? O will you find the hidden theme
before your song sings its own grave?
From me—where does she fade to? still nearly a girl … 5
    The first set of Sonnets appeared unbidden before the remainder of the Elegies was given. The second set is written with the exhilarating knowledge that the Elegies exist. There’s 11, 17, for instance:
     
Leishman.
Where, in what ever-blissfully watered gardens, upon what trees, out of, oh, what gently dispetalled flower-cups do these so strange-looking fruits of consolation mature?
MacIntyre.
Where, in what ever-happily watered garden, on what trees, from what tenderly stripped flower-calices ripen the strange fruits of consolation?
Pitchford.
Where, in what forever mercifully drenched gardens, in what trees, out of what defoliated bud-calyxes, once so delicate, do the rare fruits of compassion ripen?
Poulin.
Where, in what heavenly watered gardens, in what trees, from what lovingly unsheathed flower-calyxes do the strange fruits of consolation ripen?
Norton.
Where, in what ever-blessedly watered gardens, on what trees, out of what tenderly unleaved blossom-calyxes do the exotic fruits of consolation ripen?
Spiers.
Where, in whichever blissfully watered gardens, on which Trees, and out of which tenderly unpetaled flower cups Do they ripen, the strange fruits of consolation?
    Leishman is sappy. MacIntyre is insipid. Pitchford has never heard of Vietnam. Poulin’s “heavenly” is an instant improvement over “bless” and “bliss.” I don’t think Rilke means the fruits of consolation to be exotic—strange, yes, even alien—though it is their trees that are faraway and foreign. These poems, these fruits, are strange because they are unbidden. And Eden was long ago closed for repairs. Spiers replaces the word “what” with the word “which”—why? However, her “unpetaled flower cups” seems the most natural and least forced. In German, the prepositional march from in to an through aus is terribly important, and yet Poulin (alone) ignores it. One is tempted to resort to the kind of explanation I just warned about: Where, in what beautifully cared-for gardens, on what inspired trees, from what gently unpetaled flower cups do these unexpected fruits of consolation ripen?
    If we had been choosing chocolates, this last one would have been a jelly. “Forever mercifully drenched” indeed. Let’s put its partly bitten body back and try another piece just a little earlier in the row: 11, 13.
     
Leishman.
Anticipate all farewells, as were they behind you now, like the winter going past. For through some winter you feel such wintriness bind you, your then out-wintering heart will always outlast.
MacIntyre.
Keep ahead of all parting, as if it were behind you, like the winter that is just now passed. In winters you are so endlessly winter, you find that, getting through winter, your heart on the whole will last.
Poulin.
Be ahead of all Departure, as if it were behind you like the winter that’s just passed. For among winters there’s one so endlessly winter that, wintering out, your heart will really last.
Mitchell.
Be ahead of all parting, as though it already were behind you, like the winter that has just gone by. For among these winters