Letters to a Young Poet by Rainer Maria Rilke
The main messages I gathered & an ode to letter writing
TL;DR: This is the TL;DR. Strap in!
Rainer Maria Rilke (1875–1926) was a Bohemian-Austrian poet. Letters to a Young Poet (1929) is a series of letters from Rilke to a 19-year-old officer cadet and budding writer, Franz Xaver Kappus (1883–1966), who wrote to Rilke for advice on his craft and life choices. Being the son of an army officer, Rilke had been sent down a similar path himself earlier in life, so it’s safe to assume he saw himself in Kappus.
It’s a life-affirming document which stands the test of time. But why? Here are my main takeaways and a case for letter writing in general.
“You are looking outwards, and above all things, that is what you must now not do.”
All the answers are within. We knew this, but did we really? Rilke encourages Kappus to trust his intuition and judgement on his creative work. In fact, he immediately expresses that he doesn’t feel qualified to critique Kappus’ poetry because he doesn’t know the context of his life, so couldn’t possibly know where he was coming from with his verses. It’s as if the work would be too sensitive and personal for Rilke to put his fingerprints on.
Rilke is tentative and intentional with Kappus, which immediately got me hooked. It could have been so easy for him to sit on his high horse and project poetry advice on him as if his own experience could apply to everyone.
Here is a fun paradox, though. Throughout his letters, Rilke hammers the point that the more deeply Kappus goes inside himself, the more readers will be able to relate to his specific feelings. Specificity is what makes it universal; poets/writers put words to experiences that would normally be indescribable but aren’t necessarily uncommon. An audience is a by-product of writing for yourself as if no one will ever read it.
Specific descriptions create vivid images. Vague ones are forgotten as soon as they’re absorbed, because there’s nothing to hold on to. This is a key feature of your funniest friend—the one who has everyone in stitches when they tell a story. They instantly paint a picture in the minds of their audience with the details. Once you notice this, it becomes so obvious.
“Therefore save yourself from these general themes and seek those which your own everyday life offers you; describe your sorrows and desires, the thoughts that pass through your mind and your belief in some kind of beauty—describe all these with heartfelt, silent, humble sincerity and, when you express yourself, use the things around you, the images from your dreams, and the objects that you remember.”
“Then come close to Nature. Try, like some first human being, to say what you see and experience and love and lose.”
Rilke earnestly tells Kappus that it’s imperative that he listen to his calling to write, if that’s what he experiences it to be. In quiet moments, does he feel he has this need to write? If so, Rilke suggests, he should respond to it in any way possible. He must try as hard as he can to swim against the tide of his everyday military life and forge room for poetry.
“[…]if you feel in yourself a response to this serious question, if you meet this solemn question with a strong and simple 'I must,' then build your life in accordance with this necessity; your whole life, even into its humblest and most indifferent hour, must become a sign and witness to this impulse.”
The academia is about to get dark. Let me run something by you.
What else can we take from this compilation of letters between two relatively-forgotten people? Well, letter writing is magical.
We write letters for similar reasons we still buy physical books. It’s a true escape from the screens we think we’re using as escapism. We really duped ourselves there as a society. Turns out paper lowers our heart-rate. I don’t know if there’s any evidence for this but I believe it is true. Maybe the opposite occurs for iPad kids, who might be too far gone. They could be teenagers now and could be experiencing their first ever paper-cuts as I type. In reality, that’s probably just as stressful as scrolling past 13 livestreams and 57 adverts in the space of a minute.
In all fairness, the attention-mining and everythingness of social media was a slow creep-up behind our backs. No one in or around Generation Z can honestly say they were addicted to YouTube after watching “Charlie bit my finger”. Even Club Penguin became a little stale after a couple of hours flipping pizzas for random heads and running up the landline bill as you talk your friends through your next move.
My point being, after those sessions, we turned off our monitors and went to paint or do a cartwheel or something. Gratification could wait, eb and flow. Nothing bad really seemed to happen once we switched off the device. It was always there when we returned, and no pressure was put on us to do anything, because it was all for fun. Now our devices must fill our every waking moment from morning to the moment we finally hit the pillow and face our thoughts. Work, fun, social life: all in one virtual place.
I think we are trying to find this social balance today. There’s this illusion that we somehow can’t afford to disconnect from our phones, like our relationships with people will die if we do. Let them and see what happens! Ties can always be re-tied one day (maybe even with a letter!), but either way, some connections can surely be left to rest in peace in the meantime. They do say that a friend to all is a friend to none, and I have to agree. So how can we keep up with our circle on a deeper level with the time and energy we have? Aside from a good old chinwag on the phone, writing to them could be one way.
Letters might be the most fulfulling way to communicate with someone.
Crafts and gymnastic outbursts are still strong options for screenless periods, but for maintaining relationships, I think letter writing is one of the most meaningful acts of friendship and tokens of love. We send them off with little control when they will arrive, and the excitement of waiting for a reply could be enough to sustain you as you wait, depending on how much you care about what the other party has to say.
Writing letters gives me presence of mind, creative satisfaction (this seems to be an overarching theme in my Substack so far), and delayed connection with someone who is going to physically hold a piece of my mind in their hands, miles and maybe oceans away. If I am sending a letter, I care a lot. You are in my orbit.
Each word holds more weight. All the ink on the page literally weighs it down. Feeling the weight of the unopened envelope is part of the experience, like shaking unopened gifts under the Christmas tree when you’re a child to guess what it is. Receiving a letter or card is always a pleasant surprise. It’s a treasured object. It’s effort and thoughtfulness materialised.
Letter writing is complete focus and attention from another person, given at a time you weren’t aware of. That’s so cool! It’s not live and direct like pretty much all conversations we have today, but the paper has still been touched and examined by both people.
Two parallel universes overlap; time is folded into a seal.
There’s no expectation to respond immediately. You can take your time reading it, spreading it over a few days. Normally, I wait a bit before opening a letter, for a time where I’m able to absorb it the best I can (also because I’m better than you). It’s genuinely thrilling and tranquil at the same time.
Of course, this was normal in times where letter-writing was the only way to communicate over long distance, but the point remains. Rilke and Kappus’ correspondence truly seems deeper than many relationships are today, and they never even met in person. They talked entirely through written word. From my point of view, they understood each other’s souls so well because they dared to articulate them to one another.
Now, I don’t think letter writing is a cure-all nor a deal-breaker for the relationships in our lives. Absolutely not, but food for thought…
Rilke and Kappus, who were too sensitive, too reflective, for the contexts they grew up in, still found a way to channel their artistic natures into poetry and letters. Today, we have so many tools and options, and still have trouble communicating effectively with each other at the best of times. We shouldn’t assume that just because we can chit-chat any time in real-time, that we are any good at talking to—let alone understanding each other.
I believe it’s not flatly our lack of interactions that cause loneliness epidemics, but our lack of quality ones. Getting to know someone deeply nowadays feels like catching a seed in the wind and cupping it tight. There are people walking around you who have never been examined in that way; those who have been dropped or left to float in the wind and sail downstream indefinitely.
In conclusion, I will henceforth only be communicating by letter. Post or pigeon will do. Fax is acceptable in extenuating circumstances. If you know me, hit me up with your life philosophies synthesised into a page of A4 or I won’t be entertaining this relationship further. Thank you for your understanding.
And read Letters to a Young Poet if you’re a creative person, reader, multimedia consumer, or general art appreciator alike! It’s short and sweet, and the audiobook is available more or less everywhere.
“Live a while in these books, learn from them what seems to you worth learning, but above all love them. This love will be repaid you a thousand and a thousand times…”
“It is is better to know one book intimately than a hundred superficially.” Donna Tartt, The Secret History
The academic compulsion to reach a conclusion, even ironically, dies hard. Did I pass?
New pieces are being baked and will be served in due course!