Читать книгу The Power of Art - Markus Gabriel - Страница 5

Who, if I cried out, would hear me among the orders of Angels? and even if one should suddenly hold me to his heart I would fade back, touching his intenser existence. For beauty is nothing but the beginning edge of the dread we may barely endure, object of our awe because it serenely disdains to annihilate us. Every Angel is dread.

And so, curbing myself, I choke back the dark sobbed call to them. Ah, whom to summon here, to our need? Not Angels, not men; and the animals canny, are well aware we are not reliably one with the interpreted world.

Rainer Maria Rilke, The First Elegy¹

1 ^1. Rainer Maria Rilke, Selected Poems, trans. Susan Ranson and Marielle Sutherland (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2011).