Die Aufzeichnungen des Malte Laurids Brigge Download Í 104

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Die Aufzeichnungen des Malte Laurids Brigge Download Í 104 Ù ❮PDF / Epub❯ ☁ Die Aufzeichnungen des Malte Laurids Brigge ✍ Author Rainer Maria Rilke – Insolpro.co.uk Leggendo uesto romanzo cui Rilke lavorò ininterrottamente per anni e che pubblicò nel 1910 emerge la percezione della fatalitNomi di cose che riesce a tradurre in parola anche gli eventi più infimi e impercettibili è una delle poche opere poste sulla soglia della modernità letteraria. Upon reading The Notebooks of Malte Laurids Brigge one is left haunted by the wonderfully poetic prose but in possession of only a vague notion of what the book was about Through a series of disjointed vignettes Rilke opens a window into the soul of his protagonist but the view is as from a moving vehicle the scenery is constantly changing and one can only glimpse at the detail The Notebooks blend the mythic with the mundane combining obscure ancient tales and anecdotes about everyday life in a manner that appears haphazard but which taken together produce a complex portrait of Rilke himself expressing the accumulated aspirations and anxieties of the young poet in a foreign land He is concerned with history both his own and that of the world as a power to influence and to motivate but also as baggage; a force to be fought and overcome Above all he is concerned with death not as an end but as a thing intertwined with life itself a surrealism that emphasizes a powerful truthWhat a strange and beautiful novel

Rainer Maria Rilke Ì 4 Download

Leggendo uesto des Malte eBook #8608 romanzo cui Rilke lavorò ininterrottamente per anni e che pubblicò nel emerge la percezione della fatalità di un fallimento. We humans with our mighty brain like to use its powers to dwell on our own condition which is precisely but only partly determined by the nature of this brain with which we have been euippedThemes like love or an emphatic vulnerability to another being; our sense of time with memories of our own lives and experiences from times when this brain was still young and absorbing the world and absorbing itself or with anxiety about the life not yet lived; the material surroundings with objects that become familiar extensions of our selves or with some artifacts that awaken in us a feeling of elation and that we identify as “art”; dwellings that become our private spaces offering us comfort or a sense of constriction or public ones where we cross others like us or large rooms stacked with magic objects that are like little windows into the mind of another and which we call “books”; all these themes fascinate us and we relish meditating upon themBut apart from all the above there could be another recurring thought in this busily thinking brain An obsession with its own incontrovertible and eventual void DeathRilke spent some time during 1902 03 in Paris when he was in his late twenties during which he dedicated himself to writing about art He wrote on Rodin with whom he became uite close May be his interest in the materiality of matter originates there He also studied Cézanne who was at the end of his days and left a series of letters on his paintings still revered by contemporary art historians and which I plan to be my next Rilke read Briefe über CezanneHe also started this fictional diary supposedly written by a character called Malte Laurids Brigge whose name we don’t get to know until about a full third into the book although even then his identity remains elusive and who perhaps not coincidentally has the same age as Rilke was when writing it This work he did not finish until about 1908 while he was in Rome and was published in Paris when he returned in 1910This is the only novel Rilke wrote But it is not a novel really; he called it Prosabuch As a series of poetic vignettes it has to be read slowly With an interrupted reading one can deal better with the fragmentation in the inner narrative It helps not to try and impose a linear development for the vignettes around seventy of them are loosely connected by what at best could be understood as a personal recollections A diary of observations not of happeningsSo this flâneur of the mind offers us visits to the streets of Paris its libraries and horrid hospitals and we become lookers like him with a full range myopia and hyperopia Or he invites us to the opposite of urban existence the mansion and gardens of his childhood in which we no longer know who is a ghost or who is a specter in his mind And these the views of recollection are visually compressedOppositions help in delineating meaning And so as well as city countryside we see of these that function like poles from which this tenuous non narrative hangs Seeing and blindness love and loneliness poverty and wealth health and diseases and most clearly of all life and deathBut for me the most captivating parts were those in which the flâneur of aesthetics stays well alive and tunes his senses for the discovery of art whether this is his own writing his uest in the search of poetry or the magic contained in for example a cycle of tapestries where he finds this sought poetryThe way he beholds the Dame à la Licorne series is unsurpassed

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Die Aufzeichnungen des Malte Laurids BriggeUello rappresentato dalla sconsacrazione subita dall’arte nell’età moderna Ma il “Malte” libro tutto permeato d’interni e d’interiorità di nomi e di. Rilke’s semiautobiographical surrogate Malte Laurids Brigge is a young Dane a noble scion adrift in early twentieth century Paris trying to become a poet He corresponds rather well to Anthony Burgess’s description in his charming study ReJoyce 1965 “of the type of student Stephen Daedelus represents poor treasuring old books with foxed leaves independent unwhining deaf to political and social shibboleths fanatically devoted to art and art only” Malte and Stephen hang out at the Bibliotheue Nationale worry about how incidents of shabbiness in their wardrobes may effect their dignity and are nuts about Ibsen or was that just Joyce himself Did he lend that admiration of his to Stephen I’m not near my bookshelves Malte doesn’t have anything like Stephen’s confidence in ultimate triumph—like the Camus and Sartre heroes for whom he is said to have provided a model Malte is pushed pretty hard up against the wall by metaphysical doubts and a general terror before existence But even so they both have high caliber minds that relish the lyrical gnomic fragment and eschew exposition or transition in the very best badass tradition of high modernist narration in the telling of eerie tales from their unhappy childhoods Malte’s mom is dead too and in excursions through their daunting hoards of philosophical and historical arcana Stephen likes scholastic philosophy; Malte has a thing for famous female anchorites and fanatical mystic nuns plus and this is a big one for him the deathbed agonies of medieval French kings as encountered in Froissart’s Chronicles; and Rilke is like Joyce and like Baudelaire their mutual master in this respect profoundly attentive to the crushing sualor and pathos to be glimpsed in the “sinuous creases of old capital cities”Or that time in Naples that young creature sat there opposite me in the street car and died At first it looked like a fainting spell; we even drove on for a while But then there was no doubt that we had to stop And behind us vehicles halted and piled up as though there would never be any moving in that direction The pale stout girl might have uietly died like that leaning against the woman beside her But her mother would not allow this She contrived all possible difficulties for her She disordered her clothes and poured something into her mouth which could no longer retain anything She rubbed her forehead with a liuid someone had brought and when the eyes at that rolled back a little she began to shake her to make her gaze come forward again She shouted into those eyes that heard nothing she pushed and pulled the whole thing to and fro like a doll and finally she raised her arm and struck the puffy face with all her might so that it should not die That time I was afraidRilke’s tableaux parisiens are as uncanny and disturbing as Baudelaire’s He's as fascinated by the old the worn out the thrown away the girls still unused in their innermost depths who had never been loved as the poet of “Les Sept Vieillards” and “Les Petites Vieilles” On a blind newspaper peddler’s Sunday cravat and new straw hat “He himself got no pleasure from them and who among all these people I looked about me could imagine that all this finery was for them” The wannabe Bohemian girls from good families Malte encounters copying in museums wear dresses that without servants to button then all the way up appear half open in the back Beside him in one of the waiting rooms of the Hospice de la Salpêtrière a last refuge of prostitutes and beggars aged women and the insane Malte becomes conscious of a huge immovable mass having a face that I saw was empty uite without features and without memories; and it was gruesome that the clothes were like that of a corpse dressed for a coffin The narrow black cravat had been buckled in the same loose impersonal way around the collar and the coat showed that it had been put on the will less body by other hands The hand had been placed on the trousers exactly where it lay and even the hair looked as if it had been combed by those women who lay out the dead and was stiffly arranged like the hair of stuffed animalsThe portions of Malte's family memories and introspection are no less absorbing Rilke's imagery is often so striking that even the deepest burrowing in Malte's malaise and artistic self doubt can rival the lurid street scenes I put my little strength together like money but inside you it preciptates hardens takes on pointed geometrical forms between your organs it was a literal unambiguous tale that destroyed the teeming maggots of my conjectures Certainly the weightiest book I've read this year