wording

_posts/2024-09-28-Orbits.md

@@ -26,6 +26,6 @@ At any rate, riffing on that turnaround from _All of Me_—I was reminded of ano
 
 And that is when I was reminded of Rilke's poem, breathtaking even in the translation.
 
-It conveys, in the first stanza, a humbleness and acceptance of human frailty, and, in the second stanza, the sense of mystery and awe that lies at the heart of our creativity and innovation and spirituality, if not of life itself. Re-reading it truly took my breath away. I'm not sure when I learned of this poem; it could have been by way of Stefan Zweig's autobiography _The World of Yesterday_, in which he describes Vienna at the turn of the 20th century, with all its "main characters", such as Rilke, who was the older poet always aloof and seemingly allergic to noise and commotion, and Mahler, who Zweig describes as "the great master" (or something similar)—by that point he was the leading conductor of his time, at the helm of the Vienna State Opera. The younger generation would see him walking the streets from time to time, with his long cape gliding impressively behind him. Rilke they knew personally. I am reminded also of my characterization of why I was drawn to the music of Mahler. Specifically, I used to often juxtapose his music with Wagner's—Wagner's is somehow "too perfect". It is "untouchable". Somehow cold. I cannot feel intimacy in his music. I feel "greatness" and I can appreciate it on that level, but I do not personally relate to it. In Mahler, on the other hand, I feel a human presence. I can empathize with what I hear. There is the very same frailty in it, the very same sense of awe at the profound mysteries that we are given to behold in our life. The same questioning, never-ending questioning.
+It conveys, in the first stanza, a humbleness and acceptance of human frailty, and, in the second stanza, the sense of mystery and awe that lies at the heart of our creativity and innovation and spirituality, if not of life itself. Re-reading it truly took my breath away. I'm not sure when I learned of this poem; it could have been by way of Stefan Zweig's autobiography _The World of Yesterday_, in which he describes Vienna at the turn of the 20th century, with all its "main characters", such as Rilke, who was the older poet always aloof and seemingly allergic to noise and commotion, and Mahler, who Zweig describes as "the great master" (or something similar)—by that point he was the leading conductor of his time, at the helm of the Vienna State Opera. The younger generation would see him walking the streets from time to time, with his long cape gliding impressively behind him. Rilke they knew personally. I am reminded also of my characterization of why I was drawn to the music of Mahler. Specifically, I used to often juxtapose his music with Wagner's—Wagner's is somehow "too perfect". It is "untouchable". Somehow cold. Formal. I cannot feel intimacy in his music. I feel "greatness" and I can appreciate it on that level, but I do not personally relate to it. In Mahler, on the other hand, I feel a human presence. I can empathize with what I hear. There is the very same frailty in it, the very same sense of awe at the profound mysteries that we are given to behold in our life. The same questioning, never-ending questioning.
 
 Orbits.