Rainer Maria Rilke: Archaisher Torso Apollos

[beelzebubbles]

ARCHA?SCHER TORSO APOLLOS

Wir kannten nicht sein unerh?rtes Haupt,
darin die Augen?pfel reiften. Aber
sein Torso gl?ht noch wie en Kandelaber,
in dem sein Schauen, nur zur?ckgeschraubt,

sich h?lt und gl?nzt. Sonst k?nnte nicht der Bug
der Brust dich blenden, und im leisen Drehen
der Lenden k?nnte nicht ein L?cheln gehen
zu jener Mitte, die die Zeugung trug.

Sonst st?nde dieser Stein entstellt und kurz
unter der Schultern durchsichtigem Sturz
und flimmerte nicht so wie Raubtierfelle;

und br?che nicht aus allen seinen R?ndern
aus wie ein Stern: denn da ist keine Stelle,
die dich nicht sieht. Du musst dein Leben ?ndern.

[beelzebubbles]

Here is a group of translation of An Archaic Torso of Apollo each in its own post for ease of viewing.

Archaic Torso of Apollo
translated by M.D. Herter Norton


We did not know his legendary head
In which the eyeballs ripened. But
His torso still glows like a candelabrum
In which his gaze only turned low,


holds and gleams. Else could not the curve
of the breast blind you, nor in the slight turn
of the loins could a smile be running
to that middle, which carried procreation.


Else would this stone be standing maimed and short
under the shoulder's translucent plunge
not flimmering like the fell of beasts of prey


nor breaking out of all its contours
like a star: for there is no place
that does not see you. You must change your life.

When I first read this poem, it blew me away and I was immediately infatuated. I gathered together as many translations of the poem as I could. Some are fabulous and some are dismal. I bought a German/English dictionary and armed with than and my limited education in German I determined to translate it for myself. I ended up writing something I called a transubstantiation of An Archaic Torso of Apollo rather that a translation.

You will please note how much trouble this one line gives translators "darin die Augen?pfel reiften." It's an unintentional hoot in English. More so in my transubstantiation.

[beelzebubbles]

translated by Stephen Mitchell

We cannot know his legendary head
with eyes like ripening fruit. And yet his torso
is still suffused with brilliance from inside,
like a lamp, in which his gaze, now turned to low,

gleams in all its power. Otherwise
the curved breast could not dazzle you so, nor could
a smile run through the placid hips and thighs
to that dark center where procreation flared.

Otherwise this stone would seem defaced
beneath the translucent cascade of the shoulders
and would not glisten like a wild beast's fur:

would not, from all the borders of itself,
burst like a star: for here there is no place
that does not see you. You must change your life.

[beelzebubbles]

translated by Winslow Shea

We did not know the incredible head
in which his ripened eyeballs blazed. Yet here
his torso glows, an ancient chandelier
in which his gaze, set lower but not dead,

still holds and gleams. Or else the chest curve could
not blind you, neither in the slight bend
of the loins could a smile descend
to center where regeneration stood.

This stone would then stand stunted and deformed
under shoulders of translucent grace,
not shining like some predatory pelt at night

nor breaking all its bounds with light
like some bright star: for nowhere is a place
that does not stare at you and say: Reform!

[beelzebubbles]

translated by H. Landman

We never knew his fantastic head,
where eyes like apples ripened. Yet
his torso, like a lamp, still glows
with his gaze which, although turned down low,

lingers and shines. Else the prow of his breast
couldn't dazzle you, nor in the slight twist
of his loins could a smile run free
through that center which held fertility.

Else this stone would stand defaced and squat
under the shoulders' diaphanous dive
and not glisten like a predator's coat;

and not from every edge explode
like starlight: for there's not one spot
that doesn't see you. You must change your life.

[beelzebubbles]

Torso of an Archaic Apollo
Translated by C. F. MacIntyre

Never will we know his fabulous head
where the eyes' apples slowly ripened. Yet
his torso glows: a candelabrum set
before his gaze which is pushed back and hid,

restrained and shining. Else the curving breast
could not thus blind you, nor through the soft turn
of the loins could this smile easily have passed
into the bright groins where the genitals burned.

Else stood this stone a fragment and defaced,
with lucent body from the shoulders falling,
too short, not gleaming like a lion's fell;

nor would this star have shaken the shackles off,
bursting with light, until there is no place
that does not see you. You must change your life.

From Rilke: Selected Poems (Univ. of California Press, 1957)

[beelzebubbles]

translated by Art Beck


We didn?t understand that outrageous head, the eyes
whose irises actually flowered. But his torso
still stares like a chandelier turned low,
dimmed to illuminate just its own steady

flame. Why else would the crease
of the chest muscles blind you? And the slight
tensing of the loin ? it?s nothing if not a smile
traveling to his center on a journey to procreation.

If not, this would only be a fragment
of mutilated stone under the shoulders? transparent
slump. Wouldn?t glisten, anymore than a predator?s

fur, or leap like radiating star fire.
Because there isn?t any single part of it that isn?t
watching you. You have to live another life.

Essay by the translator

Jacket 36 - Late 2008 - Art Beck: And Yet Another Archaic Torso — Why?

[beelzebubbles]

translated by Don Paterson


You'll never know that terrific head,
or feel those eyeballs ripen on you--
yet something here keeps you in view,
as if his look had sunk inside

and still blazed on. Or the double axe
of the breast couldn't blind you, nor that grin
flash along the crease for the loins
down to the low center of his sex.

Or else he'd sit, headless and halved,
his shoulders falling to thin air--
not shiver like the pelt of a wolf

or burst from his angles like a star:
for there is nowhere to hide, nothing here
that does not see you. Now change your life.

[beelzebubbles]

Translated by Cliff Crego

We do not know his unheard of head,
in which the seeing of his eyes ripened. But
his trunk still glows like a thousand candles,
in which his looking, only turned down slightly,

continues to shine. Otherwise the thrust of the
breast wouldn't blind you, and from the light twist
of the loins a smile wouldn't flow into
that center where the generative power thrived.

Otherwise this stone would stand half disfigured
under the transparent fall of the shoulders,
and wouldn't shimmer like the skin of a wild animal;

it wouldn't be breaking out, like a star, on
all its sides: for there is no place on this stone,
that does not see you. You must change your life.

Translated by Cliff Crego

[beelzebubbles]

?bersetzung: Dichterish von Douglas Ryan VanBenthuysen

We cannot know his awesome head,
with his eyes that ripen. But
his torso still glows like a lamp;
his gaze, turned another way,

transfixes as it looks. Else his sloped breast
could not dazzle you; his quiet loins
could not bring forth a smile,
as he brought forth the generations.

Else this stone would stand flaccid and small
under the shoulders’ empty slope
and not shine like a fierce beast’s pelt;

and not radiate from every surface
like the sun: for there is not one spot
which cannot see you. You must change your life.

[mesnalty]

I love this poem, though I had never even heard of it until I read Philip Roth's The Breast.

[beelzebubbles]

translation by Galway Kinnell and Hannah Liebmann


We never knew his stupendous head
in which the eye-apples ripened. But
his torso still glows, like a lamp,
in which his gaze, screwed back to low,

holds steady and gleams. Otherwise the curve
of his chest couldn't dazzle you, nor a smile
run through the slight twist of the loins
toward the center that held procreation.

Otherwise this stone would stand mutilated and too short
below the translucent fall-off of the shoulders,
and wouldn't shimmer like a predator's fur;

nor shine out past all the edges
like a star: for in it is no place
that doesn't see you. You must change your life.

[beelzebubbles]

I love this poem, though I had never even heard of it until I read Philip Roth's The Breast.

Moi aussi!

[waalkwriter]

Interesting poem. I can only somewhat follow it German, but his writing is very lyrical. I read his Sonnets to Orpheus a while back and was quite impressed.