Rilke is teaching me honesty.
I want to tell you things using decorous tools,
but Rilke says look for that middle.
I search around, listen to some swaggering music,
knowing I am nowhere near my truth.
I doubt I have any truth. I am a piece of watermelon,
turning brown and drying out. I read Rilke
and the center turns red. I inadvertently write well
and the outside also blazes red.
But when I write
like this, I float away in the dust storm
and wish for death. Is it right that honesty
is so easy for everyone else? Alcohol might as well
have been a giant gun pointed down my throat,
not just pointed but blown clear through my guts,
for it has left me with no more middle.
I walk around with sprinklings of Rilke,
nice and lilty without any middle.
stillfugue 
#1 by Indigo Spider on May 30, 2011 - 3:47 pm
Rainer Maria Rilke is my favorite poet. Not that that matters, just saying.
I really like this poem. On a personal level, I feel that way all too often, without a middle. I, too, search for my truth, whatever that means, but it means something, creates a yearning. Trying to define who I am, why I’m here, what does it all mean, what am I supposed to say.
My favorite: “I am a piece of watermelon,
turning brown and drying out. I read Rilke
and the center turns red. I inadvertently write well
and the outside also blazes red.”
#2 by Carl on May 31, 2011 - 6:54 am
Thank you for your comment. I’m glad it spoke to you.
#3 by carldagostino on May 30, 2011 - 5:06 pm
Read Rilke in mid 80’s . I think I go read again to remember what I liked about his stuff. Been reading a little Emily Dickinson.
#4 by Carl on May 31, 2011 - 6:56 am
Thank you, Carl. I appreciate your comment. I am reading his Letters to a Young Poet and there is fine advice on each page, in each sentence.
#5 by liv2write2day on May 31, 2011 - 12:00 pm
This makes me want to go back and read Rilke…it’s been a long time. I think it takes a lifetime to find the middle. There is so much pain in the process.
#6 by Carl on May 31, 2011 - 11:39 pm
Thank you for your comment. I wish I could go back and have dinner with Rilke.
#7 by somethingnewplease on May 31, 2011 - 10:40 pm
The second stanza is my favorite. I enjoy the image of the sandstorm, and the visceral nature of the gun down the speaker’s throat.
Fascinating work. Thanks for sharing.
D
#8 by Carl on May 31, 2011 - 11:40 pm
Thank you for your comment. I appreciate it.
#9 by seabell on June 1, 2011 - 12:23 pm
There’s some subjectiveness about honesty I learned in Africa. People live very isolated and it is a set rule to keep what they find in the fields. If by chance they start to live in a city they apply that same rule: unattended objects are offers from the gods… And it’s really hard to explain the reasons of our disapproval to a very puzzled individual…
#10 by Carl on June 1, 2011 - 8:54 pm
That is fascinating. If they don’t know it’s property, how could one accuse them of being dishonest?