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Text: Poem by Ranier Maria Rilke, Trans. J.B. Leischman
Love Song
How shall I hold my soul, that it many not
Be touching yours? How shall I lift it then
Above you to where other thigs are waiting?
Ah, gladly would I lodge it, all-forgot,
With some lost thing the dark is isolating
On some remote and silent spot that, when
your depths vibrate, is not itself vibrating.
You and me - all that lights upon us, though,
Brings us together like a fiddle-bow
Drawing one voice from two strings it glides along.
Across what instrument have we been spanned?
And what violinist holds us in his hand?
O sweetest song.
from Possibility of Being, tr. J.B. Leischman
