The Panther
His vision, from the constantly passing bars,
has grown so weary that it cannot hold
anything else. It seems to him there are
a thousand bars, and behind the bars, no world.
As he paces in cramped circles, over and over,
the movement of his powerful soft strides
is like a ritual dance around a center
in which a mighty will stands paralyzed.
Only at times, the curtain of the pupils
lifts, quietly. An image enters in,
rushes down through the tense, arrested muscles,
plunges into the heart and is gone.
Commentary
translated by Steven Mitchell.
I haven’t read much of Rilke, but the little I have read always strikes me by its quality of - how shall I put it? - ‘muscular delicacy’, I suppose. There’s a lean grace about his words, an efficiency of expression which comes through even in translation. Certainly there’s beauty in his writing, but it’s not an ornate beauty, nor even a particularly striking one; rather, it’s a beauty of minimalism and feeling (yes, feeling) stripped down to the bare bones… “every word chosen smooth and well-fitting”, to paraphrase Pound.
I chose today’s poem because the image of the panther seems to be embody many of the prosodic qualities of Rilke’s own work (though not necessarily his themes). (Yup, it’s that old form versus content thing again. One of these days I have to get down to writing a proper essay on the subject :-)). There’s the same sense of barely restrained tautness, of supple strength matched with unhurried elegance…
Another thing I like about this poem is the sudden shift in its pace; in the first two stanzas, the words seem, if not quite languid, then at least deliberate in their slow grace. But in the third stanza the vision alters1, suddenly blurring into sheer speed. You’ve heard of big cats as ‘poetry in motion’; here, Rilke captures their motion in his poetry.
— Thomas
The music fades, the rhythm falters”
:-)
Biography
Geboren am 4.12.1875 in Prag. Rilke war der Sohn eines Militärbeamten und Beamten bei der Eisenbahn. Besuchte die Militärschule St. Pölten 1886 bis 1891 und danach die Militär-Oberrealschule in Mährisch-Weißkirchen. Der sensible Knabe wich der Offizierslaufbahn aus, bereitete sich privat auf das Abitur vor und studierte Kunst- und Literaturgeschichte in Prag, München und Berlin. 1897 Begegnung mit Lou Andreas-Salomé, mit der er 1899/1900 nach Rußland reiste. Das Land, die Menschen, vor allem die »russische Seele« beeindruckten ihn sehr. Begegnung mit Tolstoi. 1900 ließ er sich in der Malerkolonie Worpswede nieder und heiratete die Bildhauerin Clara Westhoff, von der er sich 1902 wieder trennte. 1905 wurde er für acht Monate der Privatsekretär von Rodin in Paris. Reisen nach Nordafrika, Ägypten, Spanien. 1911/12 lebte er auf Schloß Duino an der Adria bei der Fürstin Marie v. Thurn u. Taxis. Im 1. Weltkrieg in München; kurze Zeit beim österreichischen Landsturm; aus Gesundheitsgründen entlassen. Nach Kriegsende in der Schweiz: 1920 in Berg am Irschel, seit 1921 auf Schloß Muzot im Kanton Wallis, das ihm sein Mäzen Werner Reinhart zur Verfügung gestellt hatte. Er starb am 29.12.1926 im Sanatorium Val-Mont bei Montreux an Leukämie.
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“Suddenly, the vision alters ↩
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From the Wondering Minstrels mailing list, 1999–2008.
PrImEsUsPeCt004 · 18 September 2003
i have a essay im doing on this poem , i need to know what do you feel is the conflict or problem here?
i was suggesting the effects of animals in captivity, and what it does to them?
other people see it differently? like lab testing is wrong, i know this deals with it but is it the center of the poem or what please give me your opinion -thanks
laura,,, my email is -
Julian Holman · 25 December 2004
dear Laura
you poor thing, having to write about poems, instead of just reading them, again and again, and saying them aloud (this one sounds great in german), especially as you are walking or doing some work like raking leaves. Or maybe the ideal time to say this poem is when you feel like the panther, when your whole world is just a cage, and all your strength and cunning and vitality are made impotent.
if I was the teacher i’d say, look you guys, this man Rilke went to the zoo, and he had this experience looking at the big cats in cages. he tried to describe the experience, so that someone reading what he wrote would have a part of the experience too. period. Now I want you to think of an experience that has stuck in your mind and try and describe it, so that someone reading what you wrote might have a part of your experience too. write it anyway you want, but try and make it short (make every word count) - try and get to the essense of what it was, and put that in words. if it becomes a poem, fine; if it stays prose, also fine, but it should be short and pack a punch, like the experience itself must have (or how else would you have remembered it?!). I would also say ‘writing like this, finding just the words you want to use, is a struggle: do it for the pleasure of struggling with words, not as a chore
love Julian
Miki Nilan · 8 April 2006
Stephen,
May I use your translation of The Panther by Rilke at my web site? Your translation is the nicest I’ve found. I would link to your site. I’m revamping my site completely and would love to use your translation with one of my pieces of art. In the present site I’ve used this quote by Rilke which is nice, too: “You must give birth to your images. They are the future waiting to be born.” I don’t know the translator. [broken link] http://www.vermontel.net/!mnilan. Thanks, Miki
Stephanie Saunders · 11 May 2006
Whoever translated the Panther (Rilke) did a miserable job. I hope Rainer Maria is not twirling in his grave….. SYS
Stephanie Saunders
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Martine · 26 June 2006
Hello this poem is one of my favorite. However this translation was, I thought the best
The Panther
His gaze from staring through the bars,
Has grown so weary,
That it can take in nothing more for him.
It is though there were a thousand bars,
And behind the thousand bars, no world.
As he paces in cramped circles, over and over, His powerful strides are like a ritual dance around a centre, Where a great wheel stands paralysed.
At times the quickness of the eye lifts without a sound, And a shape enters,
Slips through the tightened silence of the shoulders, Reaches the heart and dies.
ecfs · 16 November 2006
Dear julian,
I do hope you become an English teacher or poet. You definitely get the gist of this poem and help writers/readers see what they need to do and understand! -Pam
Miles Wootton · 5 September 2007
What a ghastly, pathetic translation of a great poem
Bobbie Sigmond · 27 October 2007
I think this poem is absolutely beauty-fool.. it has set this certain mood of captivity I feel all of us experience at some point in our lives. Rainer is one of my favorite poets there are, along with Emily Dickinson
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