: Rilke un totēms . . .
Her vision, from the constantly passing bars, has grown so weary
that it cannot hold anything else.
It seems to her there are a thousand bars; and behind the bars,
no world.
As she paces in cramped circles, over and over, the movement of her
powerful soft strides is like a ritual dance around a center in which
a mighty will stands paralyzed.
Only at times, the curtain of the pupils lifts, quietly----.
An image enters in, rushes down through the tensed, arrested muscles,
plunges into the heart and is gone.
Rainer Maria Rilke
Her vision, from the constantly passing bars, has grown so weary
that it cannot hold anything else.
It seems to her there are a thousand bars; and behind the bars,
no world.
As she paces in cramped circles, over and over, the movement of her
powerful soft strides is like a ritual dance around a center in which
a mighty will stands paralyzed.
Only at times, the curtain of the pupils lifts, quietly----.
An image enters in, rushes down through the tensed, arrested muscles,
plunges into the heart and is gone.
Rainer Maria Rilke