Undaunted, I write
Undaunted, I write
Some Rilke readers see
his poetry about love
as his own flaws exposed,
his failure as a lover.
Some readers define his lover
as one of two supposed
people cut off from love
around them. In his poetry,
neither can thus know
what love is. Being in love,
as poet, with the process
of writing as Rilke was, art
was his ever saving part-
ner in the tedium of less
emotions. I have been in love,
hopelessly so.
In my heart, love
has been as beautiful as a meadow
of wild flowers of many colors,
reliably moving in a prevailing wind.
4 thoughts on "Undaunted, I write"
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I’m intrigued by this poem. The ending is a great paradox.
Thanks, Linda, you have been a poet of much encouragement…
Rudy
I have enjoyed your poems–as prolific and inviting as “a meadow/ of wild flowers of many colors.” Saw some hardy Jacob’s-ladder flowers attracting Ebony jewelwings at Raven Run Nature Sanctuary this morning.
Gaby, thanks for being a positive influence this year.
Rudy