Only a rose, but it's every rose there is. The one you hold is perfect. It cannot be replaced. It is the beauty that a thousand poets chased, And threw their net of words at, but still missed.
If there were no roses in the spring again, Then hope would have no voice, goodbye no sense. The rose we clutch at is our brave defense, Against the loss we know but never know its end.
This is my attempt at a very free translation of Rilke's Roses VI. I've drawn on David Need's translation but tried to follow the rhyming pattern of the original, and perhaps capture some of the emotional texture too.
Roses
Only a rose, but it's every rose there is.
The one you hold is perfect. It cannot be replaced.
It is the beauty that a thousand poets chased,
And threw their net of words at, but still missed.
If there were no roses in the spring again,
Then hope would have no voice, goodbye no sense.
The rose we clutch at is our brave defense,
Against the loss we know but never know its end.
This is my attempt at a very free translation of Rilke's Roses VI. I've drawn on David Need's translation but tried to follow the rhyming pattern of the original, and perhaps capture some of the emotional texture too.