Rilke：Concerning the Poet（1912）

{英}

The Position of the Poet in the existing world, his “meaning” was once shown to me in a fine similitude. It was on board the large sailing vessel in which we crossed from the island of Philae to the wide stretching dams. We went up stream at first and the oarsmen had to exert themselves greatly. I had them all facing me, sixteen of them, if I remember rightly, four in each row, two on the right oar and two on the left. Occasionally one caught the eye of one or other, but mostly their eyes saw nothing, their open gaze going out into the air, or their eyes were simply points where the hot vitality of these men lay bare, set in their metallic bodies. But sometimes, looking up quickly, one could catch one of them deep in thought, meditating on the strange disguised phenomenon facing him and on possible situations which might disclose its nature; when noticed, he immediately lost his strenuously thoughtful expression, for a moment all his feelings were in confusion, then, as quickly as he could, he reverted to the watchful gaze of an animal, until the beautiful serious expression became again the usual silly backshish face, with its foolish readiness to assume any required humiliating distortion of thanks. This degradation, for which travelers have long been to blame, is generally accompanied by its own penalty, in that the native seldom fails to gaze over and beyond the stranger with a look of deep hatred, lit by a gleam of understanding with the man on the far side of him. I had observed the old man, who was sitting there crouched at the end of the boat, repeatedly. His hands and feet had come into the closest association, and the pole of the rudder moved between them, guided and checked by them. His body, clad in dirty rags, was not worth mentioning, his face, beneath its disreputable turban cloth, was folded in on itself like the parts of a telescope, its extreme flatness seeming to make the eyes ooze moisture. God knows what was in the man, he looked capable of turning one into something repulsive; I should have liked to scrutinize his face, but when I turned round he was as close to me as my own ear, and to attempt to examine him at such short distance seemed too obvious a proceeding. Moreover, the spectacle of the broad river flowing towards us, the beautiful region lying constantly before us, as it were, whilst we penetrated into it, was so worthy of undivided attention and so satisfying in its effect that I ceased to occupy myself with the old man, and instead came to observe with increasing delight the movements of the boys, which, for all their vigour and effort, lost nothing of their ordered rhythm. Their rowing was now so strenuous that those at the end of the great oars rose completely from their seats each time they reached forward and, placing one leg against the seat in from of them, threw themselves back violently, the eight oar blades driving forward in the current below. At the same time they gave voice to a kind of counting in order to keep time, but so exacting was their work that their voices frequently failed them; often they had simply to suffer such a gap, but at times an unpredictable intervention, felt by all of us in a most peculiar manner, not only helped them rhythmically, but quite perceptibly transformed the powers within them, as it were, so that, being eased, they brought fresh, still untouched sources of strength into play: just as a child, after whetting its appetite in the eating of an apple, will begin to eat afresh, radiant with enjoyment, when it discovers that the side it has been holding is still intact even to the skin.

Now I cannot postpone any longer mention of the man sitting at the front on the right-hand side of the boat. I ended by believing that I could feel in advance when his song was about to begin, but I may have been mistaken. He sang suddenly, at quite irregular intervals, and by no means always when exhaustion increased; on the contrary, his song occurred more than once when all of the rowers were vigorous or even exuberant, but even then it was the right thing; even then it was appropriate. I do not know to what extent the mood of our crew communicated itself to him; they were all behind him, he rarely looked backwards, and was not affected when he did so. What did seem to influence him was the pure movement of his feeling when it met the open distance, in which he was absorbed in a manner half melancholy, half resolute. In him the forward thrust of our vessel and the force opposed to us were continually held in counterpoise--from time to time a surplus accumulated: then he sang. The boat overcame the opposition; but what could not be overcome (was not susceptible of being overcome) he, the magician, transmuted into a series of long floating sounds, detached in space, which each appropriated to himself. Whilst those about him were always occupied with most immediate actuality and the overcoming of it, his voice maintained contact with the farthest distance, linking us with it until we felt its power of attraction.

I do not know how it happened, but suddenly, in this phenomenon, I understood the position of the poet, his place and effect within time, and that one might well dispute his right to every other position but this. This one, though, must be allowed to him.