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69 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1929
’Nothing touches a work of art so little as words of criticism: they always result in more or less fortunate misunderstandings. Things aren’t all so tangible and sayable as people would usually have us believe; most experience is unsayable, they happen in a space that no word has ever entered, and more unsayable than all other things are works of art, those mysterious existences, whose life endures beside our own small, transitory life.While, as Rilke point out, the ethereal joys brought about in me while reading this are ineffable, I would still like to take a few moments of your time to discuss how beautiful these letters are. It is a sort of minor-key beauty, spending much time navigating through the implications of solitude and painful soul-searching, yet it elevates the heart to such high levels and is sure to make anyone reach for a pen in order to try their own hand at poetry.
remember the old dogsThis is merely a more blunt and coarse explanation of Rilke’s own sentiments. While it may seem a frightening truth, that we must always take the hard road, and that we must seek solitude in ourselves to mine the gold buried within us, that we may reach a point of near-madness, he presents it as such a beautiful gift, a place of inner turmoil that is bliss to the writer because it is how language is able to take root in our souls and grow.
who fought so well:
Hemingway, Celine, Dostoevsky, Hamsun.
If you think they didn't go crazy
in tiny rooms
just like you're doing now
without women
without food
without hope
then you're not ready.
’What is necessary, after all, is only this: solitude, vast inner solitude. To walk inside yourself and meet no one for hours – that is what you must be able to attain. To be solitary as you were when you were a child, when the grownups walked around involved with matters that seemed large and important because they looked so busy and because you didn’t understand a thing about what they were doing.’Rilke advises that childhood is one of the richest places to seek ourselves and our inspirations. Not only to call forth our dusty memories and let language polish and remold them into something remarkable, but to use a childlike ‘not-understanding’ to best examine the world.
‘Why should you want to give up a child’s wise not-understanding in exchange for defensiveness and scorn, since not-understanding is, after all, a way of being alone, whereas defensiveness and scorn are a participation in precisely what, by these means, you want to separate yourself from.What really stood out to me about Rilke was his utter humbleness. Rilke responds to Kappus as if Kappus were the most important person in the world, and he begins each letter with an honest apology for the delay in his responses. Rilke remains ever humble in his words, and though he offers brilliant, shining insights, suggestions and long investigations on a variety of topics beyond writing (God, love – especially his distaste for those who mistake lust for love and how it damages the artistic heart, Rome, paintings, etc.), he never asserts himself as anything but a man with no answers, only direction. He reminds Kappus ‘Don’t think the person who is trying to comfort you now lives untroubled among the simple and quiet words that sometimes give you pleasure. His life has much trouble and sadness…’. We all face our anxieties day by day, and even those we look up and even idolize were never able to reach perfection. We are all human, and Rilke manages to both send us reaching for the heavens while still remaining firmly grounded here on the Earth.
And your doubts can become a good quality if you school them. They must grow to be knowledgeable, they must learn to be critical. As soon as they begin to spoil something for you ask them why a thing is ugly, demand hard evidence, test them, and you will perhaps find them at a loss and short of an answer, or perhaps mutinous. But do not give in, request arguments, and act with this kind of attentiveness and consistency every single time, and the day will come when instead of being demolishers they will be among your best workers – perhaps the canniest of all those at work on the building of your life.It might be heartening for you to know that I have been attributing my strength to my doubts as much as to my beliefs. In fact, I have often found myself strolling on numerous evenings, absorbed in an inconsequential mist of doubts and dilemmas. Donning the robe of a forced soloist has never stopped me from performing but has often questioned my embrace of solitude. Is it even worth? All those seconds ticking away without another pair of eyes in the vicinity?
What is needed is this, and this alone: solitude, great inner loneliness. Going into oneself and not meeting anyone for hours – that is what one must arrive at.You quelled my fear; in the most beautiful way. You didn’t deflect me from my walk. Instead you slipped an inexpressible kind of validation beneath my feet that transformed the weather all at once. Holding your finger, the hard road of complexities and predicaments turned a generous grass-bed of soft, white clouds – engulfing me in a feeling of beauty, tenderness, clarity and alacrity while sending buoyant tremors of spirit into my being.
If there is something ailing in the way you go about things, then remember that sickness is the means by which an organism rids itself of something foreign to it. All one has to do is help it to be ill, to have its whole illness and let it break out, for that is how it mends itself..
“I beg you, to have patience with everything unresolved in your heart and to try to love the questions themselves as if they were locked rooms or books written in a very foreign language. Don’t search for the answers, which could not be given to you now, because you would not be able to live them. And the point is to live everything. Live the questions now.”
Many weeks went by before an answer came. The letter with its blue seal bore a Paris postmark, weighed heavy in the hand and displayed on the envelope the same clarity, beauty and assurance of hand with which the content itself was written from the first line to the last. And so my regular correspondence with Rainer Maria Rilke began, lasting until 1908 and then gradually petering out because life forced me into domains which the poet's war, tender and moving concern had precisely wanted to protect me from. But that is unimportant. The only important thing is the ten letters that follow, important for the insight they give into the world in which Rainer Maria Rilke lived and worked, and important too for many people engaged in growth and change, today and in the future, And where a great and unique person speaks, the rest of us should be silent.So concludes the letter that Kappus wrote in Berlin 1929 explaining how he came to write to Rilke. A chaplain saw him reading Rilke's poetry in 1902 and informed him that Rilke had also been a cadet at their military school. Kappus wrote to Rilke, presumably asking for advice about his poetry. The only letters published in my volume at Rilke's responses to Kappus' unseen messages. Rilke even tells him, I cannot go into the nature of your verses, for any critical intention is too remote from me. One would be forgiven for inferring the 19-year-old's letters were tentative, like a chick exploring the outside of the nest for the first time. But Rilke still dives deeper into what Kappus is telling him. And this is where my existential crisis began.
...give up all that. You are looking to the outside, and that above all you should not be doing now. Nobody can advise you and help you, nobody. There is only one way. Go into yourself. Examine the reason that bids you to write; check whether it reaches its roots into the deepest region of your heart, admit to yourself whether you would die if it should be denied you to write...This sounds dangerous, especially as advice for someone who just started artistry. There needs to be room for flexibility and an acceptance of the volatility of humanity.
love your solitude and bear the pain it causes you with melody wrought with lament.There's a lot to appreciate in this little book, from Rilke's appreciation of place,
you slowly learn to recognize the very few things in which something everlasting be felt, something you can love, something solitary in which you can take part in silence.on solitude
its growth is painful like the growth of boys and sad like the beginning of springon adulting
Think, dear Mr Kappus, of the world that you carry within you, and call this thinking whatever you like. Whether it is memory of your own childhood or longing for your own future - just be attentive towards what rises up inside you, and place it above everything that you notice round about. What goes on in your innermost being is worth all your love, this is what you must work on however you can and not waste too much time and energy clarifying your attitude to other people.And a few paragraphs later,
adults are nothing and their dignity has no worth.This reminded me of the need for embarrassment instilled in us as children. I remember being scolded for being curious enough to ask questions then being scolded again for being quiet when I should participate. The imagined indignities suffered by adults of stunted imagination struck upon us a need to follow rigid routines and eventually shackled us to a life where all we do is grow, eat, work, sleep and if you have the range for it, reproduce more people to enter the chain.
They act out of a shared helplessness, and if they do their best to escape the convention they happen to have noticed (as marriage for example), they fall into the clutches of a less obvious but just as deadly conventional solution...Rilke also espouses the inevitable change that will be people living their lives outside of the heteropatriarchal norms,
Do not believe that that abundance of love which was once, as a boy, bestowed on you is now lost.This book is full of casual wisdom and profound insight. But often it felt like affirmation of that which I already believe. There are even times I felt scolded,
Why should you want to exclude from your life all unsettling, all pain, all depression of spirit, when you don't know what work it is these states are performing within you? Why do you want to persecute yourself with the question of where it all comes from and where it is leading? You well know you are in a period of transition and want nothing more than to be transformed.Does this mean that every little owie life gives me is meant to have meaning? I don't know. But like Ursula K Le Guin said, the truth that I recognize in suffering as I don’t in comfort and happiness — that the reality of pain is not pain. If you can get through it. If you can endure it all the way. But Rilke likens pain to a fever. Sickness is how the body gets rid of foreign microbes. He even gives a step by step tutorial on what to do:
Art too is only a way of living, and it is possible, however one lives, to prepare oneself for it without knowing...