Rilke's poems are masterful in their use of images to describe. He knew and often spoke of languages limitation. Where do we keep the deepest parts of ourselves that are masked from day to day existance, these parts that are central to our being yet are not always readily available to access? We keep our true selves far away from our verbal ability to express. A great deal goes on beyond the spoken word.
The deep parts of my life pour onward,
as if the river shores were opening out.
It seems that things are more like me now,
that I can see farther into paintings.
I feel closer to what language can't reach.
With my sense, as with birds, I climb
into the windy heaven, out of the oak,
and in the ponds broken off from the sky
my feeling sinks, as if standing on fishes.