Divine Disgrace by Rainer Maria Rilke (1875-1926) (translated by A. Poulin, J. R. — Rilke, Everyman’s Library Pocket Poets)

Too unfaithful mouth, my blunt will

shall never speak through you again;

I tried you out, but your breath scrambles

my diction with all the hazards of the heart.

If there is tenderness, it will be yours alone:

sugary aftertaste, colored saliva,

seducing everything a little, quickly insipid...

anything but the honey multiplied in me.

From now on it shall be you, harshness or

bitterness,

you alone shall ring under numberless blows:

for I am the hammer and you remain the anvil,

but no more iron forged between us!

When the mouth sets off on its own conversation, seemingly unattached to the brain, it can land us in trouble. Here, the mouth is in disgrace for some reason; infidelity to the “blunt will” of the author is cited as cause for the fallout, but we do not know the exact nature of that infidelity - a misinterpretation, perhaps, of the poet's will. The word “divine” in the title implies a religious matter - but also one of love. Somehow, what the poet wanted to say was made unsuitable for purpose by “all the hazards of the heart”, which could indicate that emotions got in the way and whatever he wanted to convey came out as a burbled mess - or at any rate, in a way that made him feel that his mouth had betrayed him.

First, the poet talks of the possibility of tenderness, attributing it then to the mouth alone - for he will not allow the mouth to convey “the honey multiplied” in him. No, he'll keep that to himself from now on. The mouth can no longer be trusted. “Harshness and bitterness”, too, will be subject to use only in the mouth; the poet won't let his “will” participate in the expression of such emotive elements.

How often have we tried to convey our feelings on a principle or romantic issue, only to find our mouth coming out with words that we had never intended to speak? All because at the moment of utterance our hearts lurch and our private, deeply buried feelings rise up and contort the syllables even as we say them, so they do not represent those feelings as they should, had they been intended for a wider audience. How many stupid words have we allowed to escape the confines of our lips? The accidental utterance may come from a place of truth but is often - if not usually - out of context and therefore open to wrongful interpretation.

Fortunately, our mouths cannot be disconnected from the rest of us, or numerous people might have attempted the operation following bouts of verbal stupidity or even, perhaps, lunacy. If only what we hadn't intended to say could be unsaid. But once heard, our words cannot be unheard. That's why it's wise to err on the side of accuracy - or kindness.

Rilke is furious with his mouth, accusing it of seduction, but not grand seduction, only seduction in a small way that is “quickly insipid”. And while all else is seduced a little, the “honey multiplied” in him is not. That honey might be his ability to love; his intellect; the distillation of his combined emotions, thoughts and experience.

The mouth is not going to escape retribution for its transgression: “you alone shall ring under numberless blows” he tells it, it being the anvil to the hammer of the poet's will. Does this mean that thoughts will continue to assail the mouth, but the “will” to speak will not? He adds: “no more iron forged between us!” so perhaps his intention is that “numberless blows” indicate that there will be no number at all, rendering the poet speechless. There has been a complete breakdown in the relationship between the poet's parts, and it could result in silence. Fortunately, he can still write, so we have the poem...

frieda.hughes@thetimes.co.uk