Michael Müller

Jürgen Born

Franz Kafka

Briefe an Milena

Philip Boehm

A new translation of Kafka's letters to his Czech translator, Milena Jesenska, includes materials previously unpublished as well as some of her letters and essays

Letters to Milena

Raiza Zaldiarizki

Yours. (now, I'm even losing my name–it was getting shorter and shorter all the time and is now: Yours)

nadyra

And it turns out we really do keep writing the same thing. I ask whether you're sick and then you write about it, I want to die and then you do, I want stamps and then you want stamps, sometimes I want to cry on your shoulder like a little boy and then you want to cry on mine like a little girl. And sometimes and ten times and a thousand times and always I want to be with you and you are saying the same thing. 

Ribs

But people only babble if they're a little happy for once.

Franz Kafka's letters to his one-time muse, Milena Jesenska - an intimate window into the desires and hopes of the twentieth-century's most prophetic and important writer Kafka first made the acquaintance of Milena Jesenska in 1920 when she was translating his early short prose into Czech, and their relationship quickly developed into a deep attachment. Such was his feeling for her that Kafka showed her his diaries and, in doing so, laid bare his heart and his conscience. While at times Milena's 'genius for living' gave Kafka new life, it ultimately exhausted him, and their relationship was to last little over two years. In 1924 Kafka died in a sanatorium near Vienna, and Milena died in 1944 at the hands of the Nazis, leaving these letters as a moving record of their relationship.

It's a little as if instead of just having to wash up, comb one's hair, etc.; before every walk—which is already difficult enough—a person is constantly missing everything he needs to take with him, and so each time he has to sew his clothes, make his boots, manufacture his hat, cut his walking stick, etc. Of course it's impossible to do all of that well; it may hold up for a few blocks, but then suddenly, at the Graben, for example, everything falls apart and he's left standing there naked with rags and pieces.

Isn't that wonderful? One decides to keep on living a little while, at least through the afternoon, until the matter is once again forgotten.

So that was the storm which kept threatening in the forest, still we were happy all the same. Let's go on living with its threats since we don't have any choice.

I'm not saying this out of jealousy, Milena, I'm not jealous. Either the world is so tiny or else we are so gigantic; in any case we fill it completely. Of whom should I be jealous?

And despite everything, I think that if it is possible to die of happiness then I will certainly do so. And if someone destined to die can be kept alive by happiness, then I will stay alive.

All right then, I'll be mad at you on this score, which incidentally is no great misfortune, as things balance out quite well if there's a little anger for you lurking in one corner of my heart.

[…]—nonetheless your sleep was peaceful. So when sleep passes over me in the night, I know where it is headed and accept this.

this is the quote i saw that made me want to read this in the first place :)

It occurs to me that I really can't remember your face in any precise detail. Only the way you walked away through the tables in the café, your figure, your dress that I still see.

Translated by Tania and James Stern

Andjela Cvetković

Simone Endres

Bish this the same guy who wrote that depressing ass diary?

Azizah Jihan

I feel like Kafka wrote these letters at his most tender and tormented—like he’s in love, on the verge of a breakdown, or both—no in-between. 

Rien

In no other work does Franz Kafka reveal himself as in Letters to Milena, which begins as a business correspondence but soon develops into a passionate but doomed epistolary love affair. Kafka's Czech translator, Milena Jesenská, was a gifter and charismatic twenty-three-year-old who was uniquely able to recognize Kafka's complex genius and his even more complex character. For thirty-six-year-old Kafka, she was "a living fire, such as I have never seen." It was to Milena that he revealed his most intimate self and, eventually, entrusted his diaries for safekeeping.

em 摇摇

now i really wish we could get Milena’s side of the story.

I loved it! Made me apriciate Franz Kafka even more. 

Martina

Selin Igten

‘I can't explain to you or to anybody what it's like inside me. How could I begin to explain; I can't even explain it to myself. But even this is not the main thing; the main thing is obvious: it is impossible to live like a human being around me; you see this and yet you don't want to believe it?’

‘I'm very sorry about the flowers you received--so sorry I can't even decipher what kind of flowers they were. And now they're in your room. If I really were your wardrobe I'd suddenly shove myself out of the room in broad daylight and wait.’

Laura Rodrigues de Pina

Acho que poucas leituras na minha vida serão tão prazeirosas e dolorosas na minha vida, nunca havia experimentado sentimento tão agridoce a me identificar nas paginas de um livro.

Franz Kafka's Letters to Milena are an opportunity to understand the author behind some well known works. He has a rather romantic, philosophical way of writing. The greatest surprise was the ending, which provided some of Milena's works. Her essay on marriage contains a modern, unconventional view of this subject for its time. It was a pleasure to read this book. 

Nina Alexandra Bacrau

Lettere a Milena. Ediz. critica

gio☕

“Cara signora Milena”, così Kafka ha cominciato gran parte delle sue lettere. Dunque è così che desidero iniziare io la mia.

Cara signora Milena,
Caro signor Kafka (a lei ultimo mi rivolgo in maniera particolare, giacché non esisterebbe alcuna lettera a Milena senza lei, e senza ovviamente Milena),
queste lettere mi hanno stregata, rapita, fatta innamorare. Queste lettere sono state mie compagne notturne, mie compagne di sogni. Sono stata incatenata alle sue parole, signor Kafka, come mi è successo con pochi altri libri. Credo che il mio cuore abbia ceduto, a un certo punto, incapace di sostenere oltre il peso della bellezza dell’amore. E credo d’essermi innamorata di lei, signor Kafka, tanto quanto, credo, lei si sia innamorato della sua Milena, solo che io, a differenza sua, mi ritrovo incapace, ora, di scriverle come lei ha scritto alla sua amata.
Non mi sono mai ritrovata tanto vicina a qualcuno; non mi sono mai ritrovata tanto simile a qualcuno. Perché noi, signor Kafka, io e lei, siamo dannatamente simili nel profondo dell’animo, legati dalla medesima concezione dell’amore, del sentimento dell’amore. Lei è stato in grado, con queste sue lettere, di farmi dire tutto ciò che mi porto dentro e che mai ho avuto la forza di portare all’esterno del mio intimo essere. Lei ha parlato per me, e di questo le sono infinitamente grata. Il mio cuore ha danzato tra le parole di queste lettere rivolte a lei, signora Milena; ho sofferto con lei, Kafka, ho gioito assieme a lei, ho amato, vissuto, desiderato di morire, di rinascere, di partire e tornare indietro, sempre insieme a lei, che ha riempito d’amore le mio notti vuote.
E io so, cara signora Milena e caro signor Kafka, che queste lettere saranno a me care per tutta la vita. Perché queste lettere sono state il coltello col quale ho frugato e continuerò a frugare in me stessa. Mi sono guardata meglio, dall’interno, e mi sono lasciata accarezzare dalle sue mani, Kafka, che mi pettinavano i capelli; mi sono beata del lieve peso del suo capo sul mio grembo, della morsa stretta e delicata insieme delle nostre dita intrecciate, della dolcezza e adorazione che non è stato capace di celare dietro il suo sguardo. Mi sono innamorata follemente dell’amore che trapela da queste vostre lettere. Vi ho visti vicini, lontani, uniti, separati in eterno. E ho poi rivisto Praga, quella città in cui desideravo da tempo tornare, ma non sapevo come. Finalmente sono tornata a casa, ad una delle mie tante case sparse per questo mondo.
Cara signora Milena, questa lettera non andrà perduta, né strappata, né bruciata.
Caro signor Kafka, desidero solo poter continuare a leggere queste sue lettere per l’eternità; al momento, ciò è l’unica cosa di cui ho bisogno, perché ora, domani e per sempre, ho bisogno d’amore.
Ho provato troppe emozioni troppo intensamente per poterle racontare in una semplice lettera. Certe cose, mi avete insegnato, possono essere raccontate solo di persona. Ma poiché noi non c’incontreremo mai, le mie emozioni, condivise con entrambi voi - con lei, signor Kafka, più di tutti -, rimaranno con me per sempre, ricordandomi di queste lettere che mi hanno segnata nel profondo.

Vostra,
G

Vi ringrazio per avermi fatto incominciare magnificamente questo nuovo anno.

Mo'men Alhoot

وأخيرًا انتهيت من هذا الكتاب وانتهى كل شئ معه!!
(ممكن تقروا ال review الكامل على Instagram)

I love this book very much & I think it’s made me obsessed with letters. Kafka’s writing, even informally, is so pretty and intense and lovely :)

Milenaya Mektuplar

Eylül Görmüş

Söylenecek çok şey var, ama benim için en önemlisi şu: bu kitaba dair sağda solda “büyük bir aşk kitabı” denmesine itiraz ediyorum. Aşk meselesi benim için ikincil hatta üçüncül, dördüncül planda oldu diyebilirim. Bu kitapta aşk var mı, var; Milena’nın Kafka’ya duyduğunun aşkın bir çeşidi olduğunu seziyorum, Kafka’nın Milena’ya duyduğu aşk mıdır peki? Ondan emin olamadım. Ama sonuçta bence bu önemsiz: aşk, bu iki insanın kendileriyle ve dünyayla kurdukları ilişkiyi zenginleştirmek, didiklemek, kurcalamak, çözümlemek (ve bazen de karmaşıklaştırmak) için araçsallaştırdığı bir şey gibi geldi bana. Ve aklıma Attila İlhan’ın şu çok sevdiğim satırları geldi: “Hayatta kimse kimseyi anlayamaz, kimse kimsenin yerini tutamaz; aşk dediğimiz, ya vahim bir yanlış anlaşılmadır, ya kötü bir hayal kurma tarzı: iki kişinin ikisi de, öbürünün yerine hayal kurmaya kalkıştığından, sukut-u hayaller eksik olmaz! Sen dediğime kulak ver; kendimizden başkasını sevemiyoruz; sevdiğimiz, şahsiyetimizin dışlaştırılmış, bir başkasının üzerinde somutlaştırılmış hayali; o başkası da kendisini üçüncü bir şahıs üzerinde dışlaştırır, somutlaştırır: arada ahenk kurulamaz, nasıl kurulsun, sevdiğimizle sandığımız farklı!” Neyse, sonuçta naçizane tavsiyem, bu kitabı aşk meselesinden çıkarıp okumak gerektiği olacak. O zaman çok fazla, çok fazla şey bulmak mümkün içinde. Korkuya dair, insan olmaya dair, üretmeye dair. Kendimizle kurduğumuz ve kuramadığımız ilişkilere dair. Son not: Milena’nın Max Brod’a yazdığı birkaç mektup bile enfesti. Keşke Kafka’ya yazdıkları da kalsaymış da okuyabilseymişiz, besbelli ki olağanüstü bir kadınmış kendisi.

Briefe an Milena

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