1New Year’s Greeting

Happy New Year, new sphere, world, home!
My first letter to you in your new
— Not exactly roomy —
(Roomy-ruminant) place: hollow, resonant,
Like the empty tower of Aeolus.
My first letter to you from your one-time motherland
Where without you I shall be heartsick,
A land now already just one of the stars
To you… The law of departure and retreat
By which a cherished lover becomes just another
Face, and the unforgettable becomes the unfeasible.
Shall I tell you how I heard about it?
There was no earthquake, no avalanche.
Someone walked in—no one special (not loved
As you are). “The saddest thing.
It’s in The News and in Days. —Will you write us a piece?”
“Where?” “In the mountains.” (Fir twigs in a window.
A bedsheet.) “Don’t you read the papers? …
So will you write it?” “No.” “But… “ “Spare me.”
Aloud: “It’s too hard.” Inside: “I am not a traitor.”
“In a sanatorium.” (In a rented heaven.)
“When?” “Can’t remember — yesterday, or the day before.
Will you be at the Alcazar?” “No.”
Aloud: “With family.” Inside: “Anything but a Judas.”
Happy New One! (You were born tomorrow!)
Shall I tell you what I did when when I heard of your…?
Shh… A slip of the tongue. My old habit
Of setting both life and death in quotes
Like so much obviously empty talk.
I did nothing, but something was done,
Something that moves with no echo or
Shadow!
[…] A smooth passage!
I speak of “life” and “death” with a hidden
Smirk (touched with your own smile!).
I say “life” and “death” with a footnote,
With an asterisk (like the night I long for:
Instead of a cerebral hemisphere
A starry one).
[…] So I ask, not without sadness:
Why do you no longer ask what’s the Russian for
“Nest”? There’s one rhyme for all havens:
Heaven.

Am I straying from the point? There can be no
Wandering away from you.
Every thought and syllable, Du Lieber,
Leads to you, no matter the topic
(Though German’s dearer to me than Russian,
Angelic is dearer still!) — and there’s no place
Where you are not, except one: the grave.
All as it wasn’t, yet all as it was.
[…] For me too, out beyond the suburbs.
All as it wasn’t and all as it already is.
[…] Doubtless, I see poorly from my pit.
Doubtless, you see better from up there.
Nothing came of it between us.
So simply and so purely nothing,
So well befitting our stature and strength,
That there’s no need to recount it.
[…] To the least built-up-outpost —
Happy new place! Happy new realm, Rainer!
To the farthest cape of the provable —
Happy new sight! Happy new hearing, Rainer!
Everything was a hindrance to you:
Even passion, even friends.
Happy new sound, Echo!
Happy new echo, Sound!
[…] — Write me a note, in our usual code.
Pleased with the new rhymes, Rainer?
[…] — Till we meet! Till we are re-acquainted!
I don’t know if we’ll meet but we will sing together.
Here’s to your new world still unknown to me,
Here’s to the whole sea, Rainer, to the whole me!
So we don’t pass like ships — scribble a line.
Happy new tracing of sounds, Rainer!
A ladder in heaven — there, gift-laden, climbing…
Happy new placing of hands, Rainer!
I cup my eyes, so that nothing will spill.
Across the Rhone and across the Rarogne,
Across the sure and final parting’s land,
Put this into Rainer Maria Rilke’s hand.

Translation by Nina Kossman