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I want to be like one of those who race
With bolting steeds across the night-black air
With flaming torches like unfastened hair
Aflutter in the stormwind of their chase.

Opening lines of The Boy by Rainer Maria Rilke,
as translated by Walter Arndt in The Best of Rilke

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I suppose you would say that Mr. Rilke
Wrote in the wrong language
(because its not yours and you cant understand it - and)
Because you simply havent bothered
To do the due diligence that is necessary
To grasp the wisdom of his words

And I would guess that you dont like
Pictures drawn in black crayon
(because your eyes havent adjusted to the dark and)
Because youve never seen a black rainbow
And havent bothered to consider that, in any color,
A rainbow is always a beautiful thing.

And I suspect that you think only white pearls
Should be hung around ones neck
(because youve never worn a strand of black - and)
Because you dont realize that youre being choked
By the pretty necklace that someone bought for you
Were it black, it would at least be ironic.

And I see you rapt by the nightingales song
Disturbed by the raven that chased her off
(because you fear the raven for no real reason - and)
Because you dont like the song hes singing
Even when he's trying to tell you something
That you really need to hear.


But I prefer Rilke to Frost
And black crayon to yellow
The black pearl to the white
And the raven to the nightingale

(because I think I understand them - and)
Because I, too, abhor sameness and expectation


And tonight
As gentle breeze gusts to gale
I draw a bit closer to those steeds.