Rainer Maria Rilke

Letters to a young poet

Tommy

The future stands firm, […] but we move in infinite space. 

I believe that almost all our sadnesses are moments of tension that we find paralysing […] because we are alone with the alien thing that has entered into our self; because everything intimate and accustomed is for an instant taken away; because we stand in the middle of a transition where we cannot remain standing. For this reason the sadness too passes: the new thing in us, the added thing, has entered into our heart, has gone into its inmost chamber and is not even there any more, is already in our blood. […] We could easily be made to believe that nothing has happened, and yet we have changed, as a house changes into which a guest has entered. We cannot say who has come, perhaps we shall never know, but many signs indicate that the future enters into us in this way in order to transform itself in us long before it happens. 

Only those sadnesses are dangerous and bad which one carries about among people in order to drown them out […] Were it possible for us to see further than our knowledge reaches, and yet a little way beyond the outworks of our divining, perhaps we would endure our sadnesses with greater confidence than our joys. For they are the moments when something new has entered into us, something unknown; our feelings grow mute in shy perplexity, everything in us withdraws, a stillness comes, and the new, which no one knows, stands in the midst of it and is silent.

But young people err so often and so grievously in this: that they (in whose nature it lies to have no patience) fling themselves at each other, when love takes possession of them, scatter themselves, just as they are, in all their untidiness, disorder, confusion. . .. And then what? What is life to do to this heap of half-battered existence which they call their communion and which they would gladly call their happiness, if it were possible, and their future? Thus each loses himself for the sake of the other and loses the other and many others that wanted still to come. And loses the expanses and the possibilities, exchanges the approach and light of gentle, divining things for an unfruitful perplexity out of which nothing can come any more, nothing save a little disgust, disillusionment and poverty

For one human being to love another: that is perhaps the most difficult of all our tasks, the ultimate, the last test and proof, the work for which all other work is but preparation. For this reason young people, who are beginners in everything, cannot yet know love: they have to learn it. With their whole being, with all their forces, gathered close about their lonely, timid, upward-beating heart, they must learn to love. But learning-time is always a long, secluded time, and so loving, for a long while ahead and far on into life, is solitude, intensified and deepened loneness for him who loves. 

We know little, but that we must hold to what is difficult is a certainty that will not forsake us; it is good to be solitary, for solitude is difficult; that something is difficult must be a reason the more for us to do it. To love is good, too: love being difficult. 

Only the individual who is solitary is like a thing placed under profound laws, and when he goes out into the morning that is just beginning, or looks out into the evening that is full of happening, and if he feels what is going on there, then all status drops from him as from a dead man, though he stands in the midst of sheer life. 

The necessary thing is after all but this: solitude, great inner solitude. Going into oneself and for hours meeting no one - this one must be able to attain. To be solitary, the way one was solitary as a child

artistic experience lies so incredibly close to that of sex, to its pain and its ecstasy, that the two manifestations are indeed but different forms of one and the same yearning and delight. 

There is here no measuring with time, no year matters, and ten years are nothing. Being an artist means, not reckoning and counting, but ripening like the tree which does not force its sap and stands confident in the storms of spring without the fear that after them may come no summer. It does come. But it comes only to the patient, who are there as though eternity lay before them, so unconcernedly still and wide. I learn it daily, learn it with pain to which I am grateful: patience is everything!

Works of art are of an infinite loneliness and with nothing so little to be reached as with criticism. Only love can grasp and hold and be just toward them. 

for at bottom, and just in the deepest and most important things, we are unutterably alone

A work of art is good if it has sprung from necessity. 

Things are not all so comprehensible and expressible as one would mostly have us believe; most events are inexpressible, taking place in a realm which no word has ever entered, and more inexpressible than all else are works of art, mysterious existences, the life of which, while ours passes away, endures.

Viet-Hung Nguyen

Most experiences are unsayable; they become real to us in a space no word has entered. And least sayable of all are works of artistic expression, which live on, full of mystery, compared to our brief lives.

Don't try to find the answers now. They cannot be given anyway, because you would not be able to live them. For everything is to be lived. Live the questions now. Perhaps you then may gradually, without noticing, one day in the future, live into the answers.

And if we will live with faith in the value of what is challenging. then what seems most difficult will become our truest and most trustworthy friend. How could we forget the myths about dragons who at the last moment transform into princesses? Perhaps all the dragons of our lives are princesses waiting to see us act just once with courage. Perhaps every terror is, at its core, something helpless that wants our help. 

We have no reason to distrust our world, for it is not against us. If our world has fears, they are our fears. If it has an abyss, it belongs to us. If dangers appear, we must try to love them.

We are solitary. We can delude ourselves and act as if it were not so. That is all we can do. How much better to realize from the start that that is what we are, and to proceed from there. It can, of course, make our heads spin, for everything our eyes rest upon will be taken from us. No longer is anything near, and what is far is endlessly far.

Perhaps everything that frightens us is, in its its deepest essence, something helpless that wants our love. So you mustn’t be frightened, dear Mr. Kappus, if a sadness rises in front of you, larger than any you have ever seen; if an anxiety, like light and cloudshadows, moves over your hands and over everything you do. You must realize that something is happening to you, that life has not forgotten you, that it holds you in its hand and will not let you fall.

Nica

It seems to me that almost all our sadnesses are moments of tension, which we feel as paralysis because we no longer hear our astonished emotions living. Because we are alone with the unfamiliar presence that has entered us; because everything we trust and are used to is for a moment taken away from us; because we stand in the midst of a transition where we cannot remain standing. That is why the sadness passes: the new presence inside us, the presence that has been added, has entered our heart, has gone into its innermost chamber and is no longer even there,—is already in our bloodstream. And we don’t know what it was. We could easily be made to believe that nothing happened, and yet we have changed, as a house that a guest has entered changes. We can’t say who has come, perhaps we will never know, but many signs indicate that the future enters us in this way in order to be transformed in us, long before it happens. And that is why it is so important to be solitary and attentive when one is sad: because the seemingly uneventful and motionless moment when our future steps into us is so much closer to life than that other loud and accidental point of time when it happens to us as if from outside. The quieter we are, the more patient and open we are in our sadnesses, the more deeply and serenely the new presence can enter us, and the more we can make it our own, the more it becomes our fate; and later on, when it “happens” (that is, steps forth out of us to other people), we will feel related and close to it in our innermost being.

The girl and the woman, in their new, individual unfolding, will only in passing be imitators of male behavior and misbehavior and repeaters of male professions. After the uncertainty of such transitions, it will become obvious that women were going through the abundance and variation of those (often ridiculous) disguises just so that they could purify their own essential nature and wash out the deforming inuences of the other sex. Women, in whom life lingers and dwells more immediately, more fruitfully, and more confidently, must surely have become riper and more human in their depths than light, easygoing man, who is not pulled down beneath the surface of life by the weight of any bodily fruit and who, arrogant and hasty, undervalues what he thinks he loves. This humanity of woman, carried in her womb through all her suffering and humiliation, will come to light when she has stripped o the conventions of mere femaleness in the transformations of her outward status, and those men who do not yet feel it approaching will be astonished by it. Someday (and even now, especially in the countries of northern Europe, trustworthy signs are already speaking and shining), someday there will be girls and women whose name will no longer mean the mere opposite of the male, but something in itself, something that makes one think not of any complement and limit, but only of life and reality: the female human being.

It is also good to love: because love is dicult. For one human being to love another human being: that is perhaps the most dicult task that has been entrusted to us, the ultimate task, the nal test and proof, the work for which all other work is merely preparation. That is why young people, who are beginners in everything, are not yet capable of love: it is something they must learn. With their whole being, with all their forces, gathered around their solitary, anxious, upward-beating heart, they must learn to love. But learning-time is always a long, secluded time, and therefore loving, for a long time ahead and far on into life, is—: solitude, a heightened and deepened kind of aloneness for the person who loves.

But this is what young people are so often and so disastrously wrong in doing: they (who by their very nature are impatient) ing themselves at each other when love takes hold of them, they scatter themselves, just as they are, in all their messiness, disorder, bewilderment ... : And what can happen then? What can life do with this heap of half-broken things that they call their communion and that they would like to call their happiness, if that were possible, and their future? And so each of them loses himself for the sake of the other person, and loses the other, and many others who still wanted to come.

Society has been able to create refuges of every sort, for since it preferred to take love-life as an amusement, it also had to give it an easy form, cheap, safe, and sure, as public amusements are.

 It is true that many young people who love falsely, i.e., simply surrendering themselves and giving up their solitude (the average person will of course always go on doing that—)

How can they, who have already flung themselves together and can no longer tell whose outlines are whose, who thus no longer possess anything of their own, how can they and a way out of themselves, out of the depths of their already buried solitude?

They act out of mutual helplessness, and then if, with the best of intentions, they try to escape the convention that is approaching them (marriage, for example), they fall into the clutches of some less obvious but just as deadly conventional solution. For then everything around them is—convention. Wherever people act out of a prematurely fused, muddy communion, every action is conventional: every relation that such confusion leads to has its own convention, however unusual (i.e., in the ordinary sense immoral) it may be; even separating would be a conventional step, an impersonal, accidental decision without strength and without fruit.

Children are still the way you were as a child, sad and happy in just the same way—and if you think of your childhood, you once again live among them, among the solitary children, and the grownups are nothing, and their dignity has no value.

Estas CARTAS A UN JOVEN POETA, publicadas más de veinte años después de la muerte de su autor, fueron dirigidas por RAINER MARIA RILKE (1875-1926) a Franz Xaver Kappus, entre 1903 y 1906, desde los diversos lugares a donde le condujo su vida itinerante, resultado de acuciantes preocupaciones económicas y de una casi constante dependencia de sucesivos mecenazgos. Escritos en una época en la que Rilke iniciaba la transición desde una poesía ensoñadora e intimista a otra más cercana al mundo de la materia y de las formas, estos breves textos son también un documento revelador del ideario del poeta y de su concepción del mundo, desde su visión de la vocación y de la inspiración literarias hasta sus meditaciones sobre la soledad inherente a la tarea del creador.

Cartas a un joven poeta

marian

Not a big fan of living but maybe I DO want to live after the influence of th following passage:

"Do you recall, from your childhood on, how very much this life of yours has longed for greatness? I see it now, how from the vantage point of greatness it longs for even greater greatness. That is why it does not let up being difficult, but that is also why it will not cease to grow." 

"We must accept our existence to the greatest extent possible; everything, the unprecen-dented also, needs to be accepted. That is basically the only case of courage required of us: to be courageous in the face of the strangest, the most whimsical and unexplainable thing that we could encounter." 

Rune

Not a big fan of living but maybe I DO want to live after the influence of th following passage:

"Do you recall, from your childhood on, how very much this life of yours has longed for greatness? I see it now, how from the vantage point of greatness it longs for even greater greatness. That is why it does not let up being difficult, but that is also why it will not cease to grow." 

"We must accept our existence to the greatest extent possible; everything, the unprecen-dented also, needs to be accepted. That is basically the only case of courage required of us: to be courageous in the face of the strangest, the most whimsical and unexplainable thing that we could encounter." 

“It is also good to love: because love is difficult. For one human being to love another is perhaps the most difficult task.”

was incredibly well written, full of truths I didn’t know I needed

elinabel hidalgo 

“It is also good to love: because love is difficult. For one human being to love another is perhaps the most difficult task.”

was incredibly well written, full of truths I didn’t know I needed

'Most unsayable of all are works of art, mysterious existences whose lives exist alongside ours' At the start of the twentieth century, Rainer Maria Rilke wrote a series of letters to a young officer cadet, advising him on writing, love, sex, suffering and the nature of advice itself; these profound and lyrical letters have since become hugely influential for writers and artists of all kinds. This book also contains the 'Letter from a Young Worker', a striking polemic against Christianity written in letter-form, near the end of Rilke's life. In Lewis Hyde's introduction, he explores the context in which these letters were written and how the author embraced his isolation as a creative force. Charlie Louth's afterword discusses the similarities and contrasts of the two works, and Rilke's religious and sexual wordplay. This edition also contains a chronology, notes, and suggested further reading. Translated, edited and with notes and an afterword by Charlie Louth Introduced by Lewis Hyde

Letters to a Young Poet

Anna 

on one hand, I am that type of person that HATES when somebody tells me what to do, how to live my life and how to feel. so of course this was not the most comfortable read. I am still a teenager, still feel some kind of rebellion towards an authority that wants to teach me the ways of life (and an authority only 8 years older than me, for that matter? oh I will rebel even more)

on the other hand, I can see why this is a great piece of literature. I understand (most of) the points that he makes, I even tabbed quite a lot of thoughts of his. 

but I feel like I'm still quite young to truly appreciate this. I am, however, interested to see my reactions to this book in five, ten years' time.

the letter from a young worker was way more interesting to me. the points he makes are similar to my thoughts, it is written rather beautifully and I didn't feel like my whole life was being bellitled by it :D

Ryan Greene

Prakash Rajendran

Didn’t want to mark the book as read as I kept coming back ;)

Grace Edwards

Not sure how to feel about this one. I thought parts were really insightful and true but overall it didn’t do much for me. I was also a little put off by the translation that I read — maybe I shouldn’t have read the commentary as I went but I thought the translators had sort of a weird presence and perspective. I wish they didn’t take portions out of the main letters. 3.5 because apparently every rating has to have a half star.

Arihant Verma

If you are a poet/ a writer / artist / admirer of art / or even see art as something just passing, book a date with these letters.

3.5 stars — this would be life-changing for me if i had read this at 15. nevertheless, i’d probably still think about these letters from time to time.

Damion Searls

Franz Xaver Kappus

"Nearly a century after the publication of Rilke's inspirational work, the missing letters of the young poet himself finally appear in this canonical edition. For more than ninety years, eager writers and young poets, even those simply looking for a purpose in life, have embraced the wisdom of Rainer Maria Rilke's Letters to a Young Poet, first published in 1929. Most readers and scholars assumed that the letters from young poet were forever lost to posterity. Yet, shockingly, the letters were recently discovered by Erich Unglaub, a Rilke scholar, and published in German in 2019. The acclaimed translator Damion Searls has now not only retranslated Rilke's original letters but also translated the letters by Franz Xaver Kappus, an Austrian military cadet and, yes, aspiring poet. This timeless edition, in addition to joining the two sets of letters together for the first time in English, provides a new window into the workings of Rilke's visionary poetic and philosophical mind, allowing us to reexperience the literary genius of one of the most inspiring works of twentieth-century literature"--

With the Letters from the Young Poet

Isabella 

loved the gentleness of the letters and of course it is filled with rich thoughts. enjoyed reading them and needed to hear some of them at present

Born in Prague when it was part of the Austro-Hungarian empire and recognized today as a master of verse, poet Rainer Maria Rilke was considerably less well known in 1902 when he received a heartfelt letter from an aspiring poet. A 19-year-old student sent Rilke some of his verses, seeking an opinion of their worth. Rilke declined to offer a critique, instead encouraging the student to rely upon his own inner judgment: "Nobody can advise and help you, nobody. There is only one single means. Go inside yourself." This seemingly dismissive letter proved to be the first of ten, written during a six-year period that coincided with an important stage in Rilke's artistic development. The poet offered his young correspondent further advice on developing a rich inner life as well as guidance on broader philosophical and existential issues. These letters, which explore many of the themes that later emerged in Rilke's best works, remain a captivating source of insights into the artistic identity and process.

It got good ideas and stuff I second with, a tiny bit inspiring. But half of the book is just pretty words I don't really care about tbh. 3.5

annalyse! 

If you want to squeeze in some light but thought-provoking reading to your day, maybe at a coffee shop or a flight away from home, it needs to be this book.

Letters to a Young Poet is a book I wish I had read when I myself was a young poet trying to rhyme words, balancing white space and phrases, often sacrificing my ideas in favor of what I thought was the correct way of writing poems.

Rilke's wisdom poured into me, ready to patiently fill my cup with notes on connection, solitude, on seeking intrinsically to answer the question — must i write?

I don't usually read self-help books but I imagine a really good one must make me feel this way.

y✦

If you want to squeeze in some light but thought-provoking reading to your day, maybe at a coffee shop or a flight away from home, it needs to be this book.

Letters to a Young Poet is a book I wish I had read when I myself was a young poet trying to rhyme words, balancing white space and phrases, often sacrificing my ideas in favor of what I thought was the correct way of writing poems.

Rilke's wisdom poured into me, ready to patiently fill my cup with notes on connection, solitude, on seeking intrinsically to answer the question — must i write?

I don't usually read self-help books but I imagine a really good one must make me feel this way.

Kendall McClain

jack

so good. one of the kindest things i've read in a while with such a positive and helpful outlook on life

Annika Arguemore

Very insightful, relevant, and heartfelt. One for the books.

jess

everything seems to tie with solitary in Rilke's mind from the cumulated letters between him and Kappus; that delved into many aspects of their lives and their philosophical thoughts; from love and self-doubt, to fear and sadness, and what it means to be solitary.

Letters to a Young Poet (Spiritual Classics)

rilke the only acceptable white man of the 20th century

ame 

12/2023 reread

rilke the only acceptable white man of the 20th century



jennifer 

fiona

i probably have to reread this because it's so loved but i just was beyond bored

second time reading this great little pocketbook. a combination of 10 letters to an aspiring poet that inspires me and makes me fall more and more in love with literature and writing 

jaz ☁️

Jony Ringo

Nota ao próprio:
Diria que: (1) Compra a versão física do livro, pois seria interessante conhecer outra tradução que não a de Stephen Mitchell e em Português; (2) Lê-o como um marco na tua vida que, quando te sentes perdido e disjungido do mundo, as suas palavras te relembrem a beleza que a vida pode ter - e ser. Ouve a Natureza e compreende a sua pureza, percebe que a arte é uma experiência maior do que qualquer crítica pode conceber, ...

Ainda não terminei o livro, pelo que termino por aqui. Mas os sentimentos que me permitiu reviver... não tenho palavras para isso.

[20 de Agosto de 2019]
É belo o modo como Rilke escreve cada palavra com uma atenção, amizade, ternura, que também nos fazem chorar pela seu cuidado e por nos fazer perceber que apenas nos resta a sua arte. Que ela continue a ser bem apreciada e mantenha vivos o seu espírito e as suas sábias palavras. Quero lê-las sempre.
Fico feliz por ser o meu segundo livro. E que fico feliz por Rilke ser o meu amor platónico... Mas, falando a sério, as suas palavras são, como disse, de uma ternura e lucidez brilhantes. Adorava que ambos se tivessem encontrado e se conhecessem pessoalmente - ah, e que soubessemos o conteúdo das suas cartas. Ainda não sei qual o propósito de ter divulgado a correspondência, mas o mundo agradece. Não posso comparar Rilke a outros artistas, por diferentes razões, e nem por isso o quero, pelo que apenas me permito imaginar que felizmente mais cartas de igual sabedoria são trocadas pelo mundo.
Posso apenas dizer que o lado negativo do livro foi eu querer que as cartas terminassem depressa. A celeridade com que queria terminar o livro não me permitiu usufruir ao máximo do seu conteúdo, pelo que quero voltar a este livro no futuro.

charisa

“Therefore save yourself from these general themes and seek those which your own everyday life offers you; describe your sorrows and desires, passing thoughts and the be­lief in some sort of beauty—describe all these with loving, quiet, humble sincerity, and use, to express yourself, the things in your environment, the im­ages from your dreams, and the objects of your memory. 

If your daily life seems poor, do not blame it; blame yourself, tell yourself that you are not poet enough to call forth its riches; for to the creator there is no poverty and no poor indifferent place.” 

during an especially rough season this year, a friend read an excerpt of this small book aloud to me. it feels so different to read it for myself now, months later. as we hover on the cusp of the new year, i’m full of anticipation. i want to follow rilke’s advice and create art and write things from whatever heart i can offer, gleaning wonder and beauty from every corner of my life. it used to be so dark; i’m thankful for the light breaking through.

ramya v 

deep and wise stuff written so so beautifully that when you read it, it feels like it's said by God and this is how people talk in heaven.

Letters to a young poet

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