Paris

February t7, rgn3

Dear Sir,

Your letter arrived iust a few da;'s ago. I

want to thank you for the great confidence you

have placed in me. That is all I can do. I cannot

discuss your verses; for any ettempt at criticism

would be foreign to me. Nothing touches a work

of art so litde as words of criticism: they always

result in more or less fornrnete misunderstand-

 ings. Thingp aren'r all so tangible and sayable as
does perhaps appeer. Nevertheless, the poems are
people would usually have us believe; most ex_
not yet anything in themselves, not yet eny-
periences are unsayable, they happen in a space thing independent, even rrhe last one and the one
that no word has ever entered, and more unsay_
to Leopardi. Your kind letter, which accom-
able than all other things are works of art, those
panied therq. managed to make clear to me vari-
mysterious existences, whose life endures beside
ous faults that I felt in reading your velres,
our own small, transitory life.
though I am not able to name rhem specifically.
With this nore as a preface, may I
iust tell You ask whether your verses are any good.
you that your verses have no style of their own,
You ask me. You have asked others before this.
although they do have silent and hidden begin_
You send them to magazines. You compare them
nings of somerhing personal. I feel this most with other poemq and you are upset when cer-
clearly in the last p@m, ,,My Soul." Thefe, some_
tain editors reject your work. Now (since you
thing of your own is uying to become word and
have said you want my advice) I beg you to srop
melody. And in the lovely poem ,.To Leopardi"
doing that sort of thing. You are looking outside,
a kind of kinship with that greaq solirary figure
and that is what you should most avoid right now.
 and lose'
and feel and love
No one can advise or help you-no one. There to say what you see
that
avoid those forms
is only one thing you should do. Go into your- l)ont wite love poems;
the hardest
flre too facile and
ordinary: they are
self. Find out the reason that commands you to
it takes gteut' futly ripened
write; see whether it has spread its roots into the ro work wittu and ^
where
very depths of to yourself power to creete something individual
your heart; confess
traditions exist in abundance'
whether you would have to die if you were for- good, even glorious'
and
these general themes
yourself from
bidden to write. This most of all: ask yourself in So rescue
you;
everyday life offers
the most silent hour of your night: must I write? write about what your
and desires' the thoughts
Dig into yourself for a deep answer. And if this describe your sorrows
in
mind and your belief
answer ring;s out in assent, if you meet this solemn that pass through your
all these with
question with a strong, simple "I ntustr" then nome kind of beeuqy-describe
you
sincerity and' when
build your life in accordance with this necessity; heartfelt, silent, humble
you' the
the Things around
your whole life, even into its humblest and most exPress yourself' use
that
drearns' and dre obiects
indifferent hour, must become a sign and wit- imag9s from your
everyday life seerns
poor'
ness to this impulse. Then come close to Nature. you remember' If your
to yourself
Then, as if no one had ever tried before, try t blame it; blame younetf; admit
'on
 *sking anyone whether they are good
or not'
lf
that you are not enough of a poet to call
Nor will you try to interest magazines
in these
its riches; because for the creator there is

wurhs: for you will see them as your dear natural

And e
poverty and no poor, indifierent place'
prrrscssion, a piece of your life, a voice from it'
if you found yourself in some prison' whose
A work of art is good if it has arisen out of
let in none of the world's sounds-wouldn't
That is the only way one can |udge
it'
net'essity.
still have your childhood, that iewel beyond
T *r, rloar Sir, I can't give you any advice but
I

I
price, that treasure house of memories?
the
tlrhr: to go into yourself and see how deep
I your attention to it. Try to raise up the
;rlnt'e is from which your life flows; at its source
I feelings of this enormous Past; your
ynu will find the answer to the question of
will grow sffonger' your solitude will
rlretlrcr yov ntust create' Accept that answer'
and become a place where you can live
in
inter-
lurtrs it is given to you' without trying to
twilight, where the noise of other people
plet it. Perhaps you will discover that
you are
bn far in the distance'-And if out of
Frllerl to be an artist. Then take that destiny
turning-within, out of this immersion in
and its
Ep'n yourself, and bear it, its burden
l

own world, poerns come' then you will not

I
 emphasis; and finally
I
what reward eveqrthing has its ProPer
greatness' without ever asking
more bit of advice:
to keep
creator must want to add lust one
might come from outside' For the
earnestly' through your
find everything growing, silently and
be a world for himself and must
you couldn't dismrb
it any
in Nature, to whom his whole
life whole develoPment;
in himself and
wait-
nrore violently than
by looking outside and
is devoted.
I
iug for outside answers
to questions that only
and into
But after this descent into yourself
I in your quietest hour'
have to renounce your innermost feeling
your solitude, perhaps you will
(if, as I have said' one feels one crrn PerhaPs answer'
becoming a Poet
me to find in your
letter
one shouldn't It was a pleasure for
could live without writing, then
of Professor HoraEek;
I have great
this self- the name
write at ell). Neverdreles, even then'
for that kind' learned man' and a
ask of you will not have been rcverence
searching that I Will
lasted through the years'
gratitude that has
for nothing. Your life will still find its
own
good of
you please tell him
how I feel; it is very
may be good''
pxths from there, and that they it'
hirn to still think of
me' and I appreciate
rich, and wide is what I wish for you' more than
me with I am
The poems thst you entrusted
I can say.
once more
to me thetl rcnding backto you' And I thank you
What else can I tell you? It seesrs
 for your quesdons and sincere
trusq of which,
by answering as honestry as r I have tried to
can,
make myself a little
worthier than I, as a
suanger,
really am.

Yous very truly,

Viareggio, near pisa (Italy)
Rainer Maria Rilke
April5, r9o3

You must pardon me, dear Sir, for waiting

runtil today to gratefully remember your letter

of February z4: I have been unwell all this time,

not reelly sick, but oppressed by

* influenza_
like debility, which has made me incapable
of
tloing anything. And finally, since
it just didn,t
want to improve, I came to this southern sea,

whose beneficence he$ed me once

before. But I