Hans Memling, Musician Angels
Music: breathing of statues. Perhaps:
silence of paintings. You language where all language
ends. You time
standing vertically on the motion of mortal hearts.
Feelings for whom? 0 you the transformation
of feelings into what?-; into audible landscape.
You stranger: music. You heart-space
grown out of us. The deepest space in us,
Which, rising above us, forces its way out, -
when the innermost point in us stands
outside, as the most practiced distance, as the other
side of the air:
no longer habitable.
Rilke, translated by Stephen Mitchell