A Year with Rilke
Poems from the Book of Hours
The joy is when a woman or a poem
come to you naturally.
If you force them, they bring you grief.
All the labor you invest in learning metrics and poetics
is a waste – if you are not driven to create
well-wrought poems in pleasing words.
The learning of a man with no ability to compose
never comes to life, like the shape of things at night
in a house without lamps.
(17th century, Telugu)
Lovely post. It touched my soul.
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