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Quote by Rainer Maria Rilke

Work

Letters to a Young Poet

This book is a compilation of personal correspondence between a famous poet and a young individual seeking advice on poetry and the creative process. The letters delve into the complexities of artistic expression, the challenges of living as a poet, and the importance of self-discovery and authenticity in one's work. more

Author

Rainer Maria Rilke
Rainer Maria Rilke

German poet known for his profound poetry and epistolary works. Rainer Maria Rilke's poetry style is unique, often exploring themes such as loneliness, love, and religious faith. more

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“ഓരോ കടലമണി കരണ്ടു തിന്നുമ്പോഴും ഉപേക്ഷിക്കപ്പെട്ടു കഴിയുന്ന അച്ഛനമ്മമാരുടെ മനസ്സിലെ എല്ലാ വേദനകളും കരളുക. ഈ കടലമണികളോടൊപ്പം അവയും ഇല്ലാതാവട്ടെ.”

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“I love the buildings. They're called skyscrapers. They're the closest thing to an ocean here. But it's an ocean that goes straight up, not flat out. They say that the body of water stretching away to the east of Manhattan is the ocean but it isn't. Not my ocean, anyway. It's weird because back home I just took it for granted, my grey-green sea. Now I have a granite ocean. It gives me the same happy-sad feeling I need sometimes. When I look straight up at the buildings I can feel alone in a good way. Not in that horrible way of no one knows me.”

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“I lead a double life. I'm John Wayne Gacy. I present myself in potentially awkward social situations as a laughing, colorful clown to gain your regard. If you ask my friends and neighbors, they will tell you I'm "normal" and that I "keep to myself." Meanwhile, there's a crawlspace in the basement where I've buried my secrets. It's starting to get pretty crowded down there, but they are mine. And there they'll stay.”

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“I realized that it was not Ko-san, now safely ditched for ever, but Ko-san's mother who stood in need of pity and consideration. She must still live on in this hard unpitying world, but he, once he had jumped [in battle], had jumped beyond such things. The case could well have been different, had he never jumped; but he did jump; and that, as they say, is that. Whether this world's weather turns out fine or cloudy no more worries him; but it matters to his mother. It rains, so she sits alone indoors thinking about Ko-san. And now it's fine, so she potters out and meets a friend of Ko-san's. She hangs out the national flag to welcome the returned soliders, but her joy is made querulous with wishing that Ko-san were alive. At the public bath-house, some young girl of marriageable age helps her to carry a bucket of hot water: but her pleasure from that kindness is soured as she thinks if only I had a daughter-in-law like this girl. To live under such conditions is to live in agonies. Had she lost one out of many children, there would be consolation and comfort in the mere fact of the survivors. But when loss halves a family of just one parent and one child, the damage is as irreparable as when a gourd is broken clean across its middle. There's nothing left to hang on to. Like the sergeant's mother, she too had waited for her son's return, counting on shriveled fingers the passing of the days and nights before that special day when she would be able once more to hang on him. But Ko-san with the flag jumped resolutely down into the ditch and still has not climbed back.”

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“Sonnet I am no stranger in the house of pain; I am familiar with its every part, From the low stile, then up the crooked lane To the dark doorway, intimate to my heart. Here did I sit with grief and eat his bread, Here was I welcomed as misfortune’s guest, And there’s no room but where I’ve laid my head On misery’s accomodating breast. So, sorrow, does my knocking rouse you up? Open the door, old mother; it is I. Bring grief’s good goblet out, the sad, sweet cup; Fill it with wine of silence, strong and dry. For I’ve a story to amuse your ears, Of youth and hope, of middle age and tears.”

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