Archaic Torso of Apollo
by Rainer Maria Rilke
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.
First published in Selected Poetry of Rainer Maria Rilke (Random House, 1982). Translated by Stephen Mitchell.
ARCHAIC TORSO OF APOLLO
I could have told him off.
I could have called him a relic
of a forgotten past, a useless,
limbless rock. I could have listed
my excuses: old age, arthritis,
sciatica. But he wouldn’t blink.
How could he? He would just go
on holding the light. The white
marble would just go on gleaming
in the dark corner like a cold
truth. I could have shouted
until my throat was dry. Then
I could have gazed at his chest.
Still perfect. Still radiant. Then
I could have put my coat back
on and walked out into the rain.