Friday, December 10, 2010
Book Talk: Letters to a Young Poet by Rainer Maria Rilke
I have a tattered copy of this book at my side, where it has been for the last twenty years. Letters to a Young Poet has served as inspiration, again and again, as I asked myself, “why am I writing again?”
As one pounds free the meaning of her of life via the tiny, but oh so effective anvils of the fingertips, doubt has a way of settling in like a heavy winter fog. I never worried much about the quality of my writing—I have always believed I was a dreadful writer with moments of shimmering promise—rather I wondered why I was writing and towards what purpose.
This quote answered my question and comes from a passage on page 19 of this small but powerful book. Rilke is responding to the poet who asks if his writing is any good: You are looking outward, and that above all you should not do now. Nobody can counsel and help you. There is no single way. Go into yourself. Search for the reason that bids you to write; find out whether it is spreading out its roots in the deepest places of your heart, acknowledge to yourself whether you would have to die if it were denied you to write. This above all—ask yourself in the stillest hour of your night; must I write? Delve into yourself for a deep answer. And if this should be affirmative, if you may meet this earnest question with a strong and simple “I must,” then build your life according to this necessity. 
Rilke was born in December and also died in that month. He was actually born 12/4 and died on 12/29. As is written in the Wikipedia definition, Rikke was an Bohemian-Austrian poet and one of the most noteworthy of the German poets. “His haunting images focus on the difficulty of communion with the ineffable in an age of disbelief, solitude and profound anxiety.”
I relate to his condition, that is, seeking meaning from that which cannot be made meaningful through language, study, thought or even idea at a time heavily laden with cynicism, materialism and technology. In this time, we are totally dominated by thought and enslaved to teeny tiny machines that are supposed to make our lives easier (but don't).
Rilke was born, René Karl Wilhelm Johann Josef Maria Rilke and his childhood was not happy. His father, Josef was a railway official after an unsuccessful military career and his mother, Sophie ("Phia") came from a well-to-do Prague family.
Phia was apparently mourning, deeply, for a daughter who had died after only a week of life. During Rilke's childhood Phia acted as if she sought to recover the lost girl through Rlke by dressing him in girl's clothing. This is a very similar story to JM Barrie, who’s mother had lost a son and had Barrie act, in some ways, as a stand in for the lost boy she was mourning—that boy who would never grow up—which gave inspiration for Peter Pan.
I have to wonder if Rilke sought solitude due to this early sadness and loss. How can a child not absorb the sorrow and yearning of the mother and in a way, be defined by it? Of course, I know a bit about this condition as well having lost my own mother at birth and then my adoptive mother when I was seven years old. But of course, that is another story.
And yet, the result is a deep contemplative nature that creates this kind of insight. Rilke writes: We must assume our existence as broadly as we in any way can; everything, even the unheard up, must be possible in it. That is at bottom the only courage that is demanded of us; to have courage for the most strange.
This is a beautiful and perfect book.
1 Comments:
I just love Rilke. The Panther is my all time favorite poem. My mom has this book...this post reminds me that I need to get a copy for myself sometime. :)
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