to leave even one's own first name behind

Of course, it is strange to inhabit the earth no longer,

to give up customs one barely had time to learn, 

not to see roses and other promising Things

in terms of a human future; no longer to be

what one was in infinitely anxious hands; to leave

even one's own first name behind, forgetting it

as easily as a child abandons a broken toy.

Strange to no longer desire one's desires.  Strange 

to see meanings that clung together once, floating away

in every direction.  And being dead is hard work

and full of retrieval before one can gradually feel

a trace of eternity. - Though the living are wrong to believe

in the too-sharp distinctions which they themselves have created.

Angels (they say) don't know whether it is the living 

they are moving among, or the dead.  The eternal torrent

whirls all ages along in it, through both realms

forever, and their voices are drowned out in its thunderous roar.

~ Rainer Maria Rilke

from Duino Elegies, The first Elegy

translation by Stephen Mitchell

art by Matisse