In the softness of evening

Tuesday, July 18, 2017

Yesterday I began reflecting on a verse from one of Rilke’s “Love Poems to God.” The reflection continues today. Here is the verse in a wider context:

it is she who drives the loudmouths from the hall

and clears it for a different celebration

where the one guest is you.

In the softness of evening

it is you she receives.

We’re dealing here with a translation of a poem which was originally written in German. Last night I went back to the German for comparison and what I discovered is that the original speaks of “he,” not “she.” The very gifted translators, Joanna Macy and Anita Barrows, chose to set this poem in the feminine. I’m not sure what to make of this; nonetheless, the verses are beautiful and provide much food for contemplation, no matter how it may be approached.

Today I’d like to consider it from a particular view, assuming that these lines are addressed to God. In this sense “you” at the end of the third line is God, and “she/he” is the human soul. With all that in mind, let me paraphrase the verses for you in terms of contemplative prayer:

I go to pray and my mind (“the hall”) is filled with so many loud and strident voices that I can find no peace. With an effort of will, I silence those voices and settle down so that I can let my mind be clear and empty, preparing myself so that a very different kind of special event can take place; namely, the celebration that is my time of prayer, where there room for God alone in my mind, spirit and soul. I crave these times when the one guest is God, and in the quiet softness of a silent and solitary evening,* I await his visitation.

* The Psalms speak of this quiet evening of the Lord’s visitation:

Psalm 16:7 

I will bless the Lord who gives me counsel,

who even at night directs my heart.

Psalm 17:3

Search my heart and visit me by night.

Psalm 63:7-9

When I remember you upon my bed,

I muse on you through the watches of the night.

For you have been my strength;

in the shadow of your wings I rejoice.

My soul clings fast to you;

your right hand upholds me.

Tomorrow, we’ll consider the closing stanza of this very mystical poem.

God bless you!