Old Man in Sorrow, by Vincent van Gogh
If at times, through the long night, I trouble you
with my urgent knocking—
this is why: I hear you breathe so seldom.
I know you're all alone in that room.
If you should be thirsty, there's no one
to get you a glass of water.
I wait listening, always. Just give me a sign!
I'm right here.
As it happens, the wall between us
is very thin. Why couldn't a cry
from one of us
break it down? It would crumble
easily,
it would barely make a sound.
The Book of Hours I, 6
I don't usually like saying much about the pairing of the reading with an image, wanting others to see and feel what might come without that from me. But today I just have to say a couple of things.
ReplyDeleteAs I was browsing the significant body of work that van Gogh left behind for a painting to pair in duet with Rilke's lines today, I was astonished at this painting and how it connects. First, the painting, the subject himself! Imagining the story of this old man, what it might be that would bend him over in such grief. Then for van Gogh to paint him this way, so moved he must have been. Then, Rilke's poem.
(!)
Rilke only lived to be 51, not old age, but in these lines I see two old men who can't quite make it on their own, who might need assistance, who depend on someone else for solace. The way Rilke turns us, turns God, from the one who provides, to the one who needs, is so moving to me, and it continues a transformation in my way of perceiving God that these writings have begun.
And what it's all about (what matters), as I feel it, is longing, and the reality that we may never truly feel fulfilled in this impermanent state. To think of God as longing, as gazing and wishing for union, just as we do, is deeply moving and opens up whole new connections, which I won't go on about now. I'm just saying . . .
:)
Love so wishes to be shared . . . . steven
ReplyDeleteRuth, what you have to say is enlightening. I very much like this particular poem. It's sad, poignant, really. This man wants so much to know God is there, just give him a sign. Most of us feel that way, particularly when we wonder if there is a God at all. I was sure of God as a child. My faith was unrelenting. I still believe and pray but I'm not as sure. A sign would be nice.
ReplyDeleteA great pairing of words and image, Ruth. The Van Gogh painting of the old man in sorrow takes me directly to Stanley Kunitiz's haunting question in "The Layers." "How shall the heart be reconciled to its feast of losses?"
ReplyDeleteOver the course of a lifetime, the losses inevitably continue to mount, all of which makes the search for meaning more intense. It's understandable, therefore, that Rilke has this deep longing for something that seems so close ("next door"), yet so far away ("I hear you breathe so seldom").
Like you, Ruth, I like this notion of God as thirsty, longing, and wishing for union no less than man. It reminds me of something I read years ago and can now only paraphrase without attribution. "Above all, God loves the seeker." Not just the believer, but THE SEEKER.
The words of this poem that resonate most deeply with me are: "I wait listening . . . " Could there be a better prescription for life than this — waiting and listening, patience and openness?
oh, I am familiar with this one.
ReplyDeleteand with that image
wrenches me .
and I appreciate your words as well , Ruth. as always.
Whoa! I am in love with this passage. Something I have never for a second considered, that god might be in need of us...Just stopped to read Ruth's comment and I agree absolutely. Can't say it any better and I feel nothing beyond it. I'd like to, but I can't. It's complete:
ReplyDelete"The way Rilke turns us, turns God, from the one who provides, to the one who needs, is so moving to me, and it continues a transformation in my way of perceiving God that these writings have begun.
And what it's all about (what matters), as I feel it, is longing, and the reality that we may never truly feel fulfilled in this impermanent state. To think of God as longing, as gazing and wishing for union, just as we do, is deeply moving and opens up whole new connections..." Wonderfreakingful, Ruth.
xo
erin
Wasn't one of Rilke's complaints about life in Paris was the constant noise from neighbors? A zealot of internal space, he eventually moved on to quieter locations. God here is the neighbor he prefeered, I think. - Brendan
ReplyDeleteMoved to silence in reading this post.
ReplyDeleteI can't help but think of Michelangelo's 'Creation of Adam': God's and Adam's arms outstretched but never actually touching...
ReplyDeleteIt too moves me tremendously that God is not only the provider but is also longing for union... Magnificent :)