I'll read you now about half a dozen poems.
First of all, from a section of this book called Reckonings,
and then about half a dozen poems from the second book,
called Songs.
The way the book is put together,
the Reckonings are whatever you want to call them,
self-evaluations, confessions, whatever.
It becomes clear enough as you hear them.
And then the Songs are--
it's like in the first poems, it's hurting,
and there's crying out, and then afterwards, breathing in again.
And thinking about that kind of thing,
you suddenly realize, yeah, that's what
the word inspiration means is breathing in,
drawing the spirits back in.
You yell and get the bad ones out, and then breathe.
First of all, this poem translated from Rilke.
And his title for it is "Herbsttag."
"Lord, it is time.
Our long summer ends.
Lengthen now thy shadow on the sundial,
and in the farthest fields, revolve thy winds.
Command the last fruits that they swell and fill.
Give them two days more for their proud weight,
urge them to fulfillment, then drive the sweet chosen flesh
into the rich wine of the fall.
Now, who has no house shall build him none.
Who is alone shall long remain alone to wake
and read, to write and read long letters,
and restless he shall wander up and down the shrouded avenues
where leaves are swirling."