二十世紀初，一位年輕的丹麥貴族獨自來到巴黎，這座城市立刻開始摧毀他。漫步在街頭，他目睹的貧困如此觸目驚心，彷彿遭受了肉體上的攻擊：垂死之人、畸形人、被遺棄者如潮水般湧來，他幾乎分不清自己的身體與他們的苦難之間的界限。
在他租住的房間裡，他強迫性地在筆記本上寫作，試圖理解自己的經歷，但寫作的行為只會加劇他的崩潰。裡爾克的《馬爾特·勞裡茲·布里格筆記》出版於1910年，讀起來與任何其他小說都截然不同：它既是日記，又是散文詩，又是哲學沉思，描繪了一個意識在現代生活的重壓下逐漸瓦解的過程。這本書沒有情節，沒有結局，沒有慰藉，只有一種如此脆弱的感知記錄，以至於世界毫無阻礙地從中湧過。
馬爾特·勞裡茲·布里格（Malte Laurids Brigge）處於一種極端開放的狀態，這種狀態最終成為一種詛咒。裡爾克塑造了一個人物，他敏銳的感知力使平凡的現實變得難以忍受。他看得太多，感受得太強烈，無法像大多數人一樣，透過無意識的保護機制來過濾感官體驗。這些筆記記錄了他試圖理解巴黎、他在丹麥的童年記憶、對死亡和藝術的思考，隨著他逐漸失去對連貫性的掌控，所有這些都支離破碎。馬爾特究竟是走向瘋狂，還是達到了一種可怕的清醒，變得難以判斷。
巴黎篇章達到了近乎幻覺般的強度。裡爾克將這座城市的街道描繪成存在主義恐怖的地帶，人類的苦難毫無尊嚴和意義地展現出來。馬爾特與窮人、病人、精神障礙者的相遇迫使他面對死亡和墮落。這些段落影響了一代又一代探索都市疏離的作家，但裡爾克的視角比大多數後繼者更為極端，這並非社會現實主義，而是現象學的惡夢。
在對巴黎的觀察中，穿插著馬爾特童年在丹麥貴族莊園的回憶。然而，這些章節並未帶來絲毫慰藉，反而揭示了馬爾特恐懼的根源：早年與死亡、疾病和家族秘密的遭遇。裡爾克深諳童年時期對死亡的體驗如何永久地塑造意識，以及兒童如何感知那些成年人早已習以為常、刻意忽略的真相。貴族生活與生存恐懼之間的鮮明對比表明，任何階級地位都無法使人免受人類根本脆弱性的侵害。
裡爾克在書中融入了大量對歷史和文學人物的沉思：浪子回頭的故事、中世紀的聖徒、文藝復興時期的貴族、以及跨越數世紀的詩人與戀人。這些並非離題之作，而是馬爾特試圖尋找生存之道的典範，探索如何在意識覺醒後不致毀滅。然而，每一個例子最終都未能提供答案，這或許暗示著，馬爾特所經歷的這種獨特的現代疏離感，或許並無先例可循。
本書對死亡的探討，依然是其最具顛覆性的元素。裡爾克借用馬爾特之口，論證了實現「自我死亡」的必要性──這種死亡屬於個人的生命，而非現代社會強加的那種匿名、制度化的死亡。這種追求真實死亡的探索與追求真實生活的探索緊密相連，共同維繫著個體意識，抵禦大眾社會同質化的壓力。這種哲學思想近乎神秘主義，卻又根植於緊迫的現實。
裡爾克的散文遊走於詩的邊緣，它透過節奏、意象和聯想而非傳統的敘事邏輯來達到效果。句子透過重複和變化積蓄力量，執著地圍繞著某些意象和概念。這種風格體現了馬爾特的意識：抒情、碎片化、時而優美，有時令人不安。閱讀需要臣服於作品獨特的節奏，並接受傳統意義上的滿足感無法到來。
筆記本本身作為一種形式，也變得意義非凡。這並非一部連貫的回憶錄或日記，而是一種更絕望的記錄，是心靈在極端壓力下自我記錄，試圖在崩潰邊緣建立秩序。這種碎片化的結構反映了馬爾特的心理狀態，同時也暗示著現代經驗難以建構連貫的敘事，而碎片化或許是唯一真實存在的形式。
裡爾克沒有提供任何答案，也沒有暗示馬爾特找到了走出危機的出路。筆記戛然而止，讓讀者無法確定沉默究竟代表死亡、超越，還是只是語言的枯竭。這種拒絕給出答案的態度與作品整體的晦澀難懂相契合，裡爾克不會提供安慰或虛假的希望，他只會記錄一種被推向極限的意識。
書籍連結：https://amzn.to/44S96WY
A young Danish nobleman arrives alone in Paris at the turn of the twentieth century, and the city immediately begins to destroy him. Walking the streets, he encounters poverty so visceral it feels like physical assault, the dying, the deformed, the discarded press against him until he can barely distinguish where his body ends and their suffering begins.
In his rented room, he writes compulsively in notebooks, trying to make sense of what he's experiencing, but the act of writing only intensifies his disintegration. Published in 1910, Rilke's The Notebooks of Malte Laurids Brigge reads like no other novel: part diary, part prose poem, part philosophical meditation, it traces a consciousness coming apart under the weight of modern existence. The book offers no plot, no resolution, no comfort, only the record of a sensibility so permeable that the world rushes through it unchecked.
Malte Laurids Brigge exists in a state of radical openness to experience that becomes a kind of curse. Rilke created a character whose heightened perception makes ordinary reality unbearable, he sees too much, feels too intensely, cannot filter sensation through the protective mechanisms most people employ unconsciously. The notebooks record his attempts to process Paris, his childhood memories in Denmark, reflections on death and art, all fragmenting as his grip on coherence weakens. Whether Malte is going mad or achieving a terrible clarity becomes impossible to determine.
The Paris sections achieve an almost hallucinatory intensity. Rilke renders the city's streets as zones of existential horror where human suffering displays itself without dignity or meaning. Malte's encounters with the poor, the sick, the mentally disturbed force him to confront mortality and degradation directly. These passages influenced generations of writers exploring urban alienation, but Rilke's vision remains more extreme than most who followed, this isn't social realism but phenomenological nightmare.
Interspersed with Paris observations come childhood memories from aristocratic Danish estates. These sections provide no relief, however, as they reveal the origins of Malte's terror in early encounters with death, illness, and family secrets. Rilke understands how childhood experiences of mortality shape consciousness permanently, how children perceive truths adults have learned to ignore. The contrast between aristocratic setting and existential dread demonstrates that no class position offers protection from fundamental human vulnerability.
Rilke incorporates extended meditations on historical and literary figures: the Prodigal Son, medieval saints, Renaissance nobles, poets and lovers across centuries. These aren't digressions but Malte's attempts to find models for how to be, how to survive heightened consciousness without destruction. Yet every example ultimately fails to provide answers, suggesting that perhaps no precedent exists for the particular quality of modern alienation Malte experiences.
The book's treatment of death remains its most radical element. Rilke, through Malte, argues for the necessity of achieving one's "own death," a death that belongs to one's life rather than the anonymous, institutional dying modern society imposes. This quest to die authentically becomes connected to the quest to live authentically, to maintain individual consciousness against mass society's homogenizing pressure. The philosophy verges on mysticism yet remains grounded in urgent physical reality.
Rilke's prose operates at the threshold of poetry, achieving effects through rhythm, image, and association rather than conventional narrative logic. Sentences accumulate power through repetition and variation, circling obsessively around certain images and ideas. The style enacts Malte's consciousness, lyrical, fragmented, occasionally beautiful, often disturbing. Reading requires surrender to the work's unusual rhythms and acceptance that traditional satisfactions won't arrive.
The notebooks themselves as form become significant. This isn't a coherent memoir or diary but something more desperate, a mind recording itself under extreme pressure, trying to create order while experiencing disintegration. The fragmentary structure mirrors Malte's psychological state, but also suggests that modern experience resists coherent narrative, that fragmentation may be the only honest form available.
Rilke offers no resolution, no suggestion that Malte finds a way through his crisis. The notebooks simply stop, leaving readers uncertain whether silence represents death, transcendence, or merely the exhaustion of words. This refusal of closure matches the work's overall commitment to difficulty, Rilke won't provide comfort or false hope, only the record of a consciousness pushed beyond ordinary limits.
BOOK: https://amzn.to/44S96WY
━━⊱ 萊納．瑪利亞．里爾克 冥誕紀念 ⊰━━
我熱愛一種脈動的生命
它悸動、奔騰、湧流不息
它永恆起伏
一種無法饜足的渴望
——〈我熱愛一種脈動的生命〉
這首詩揭示了里爾克往後的人生：1896 年他離開家鄉，前往德國就讀慕尼黑大學，從此不曾返鄉定居。他曾遷居柏林、造訪俄國，又飄蕩至北德，也曾至巴黎大都會闖蕩⋯⋯他四海為家，全心投入寫詩的志業，在不斷移動的旅程之中，一路尋詩。
經過丹麥、瑞典的斯堪地那維亞旅行後，里爾克開始書寫他此生唯一一本長篇小說《#馬爾泰手記》，寫作時間橫跨了六年的歲月，以他的個人經驗為藍本，透過七十一個片段的手記書寫，帶領讀者經歷他的所見所聞。
漫漫旅途中，他學習觀看。超越了美醜的評斷，從實物到抽象思維，里爾克無不仔細觀照。他的沉吟思索凝煉成詩作，經過了百年光陰，依舊不減啟發性與影響力。
今日，是里爾克的冥誕紀念。年末，則將迎來他的逝世紀念。
我們不妨翻開《馬爾泰手記》，再次隨著詩人的腳步，走過一遍極致孤獨中的尋詩之路。
Hanching Chung
Nikki Morris
In 1955 Ella Fitzgerald was not allowed to perform in Hollywood's most popular nightclub, The Mocambo, because of her race & body size. Marilyn Monroe, who was a big fan, called the owner and explained that if he booked Ella, she would be there every night, which guaranteed huge press coverage.
He booked Ella and Marilyn was there, front table, every single night as promised. Frank Sinatra and Judy Garland even showed up on opening night
Ella said, "After that, I never had to play a small jazz club again. She was an unusual woman, a little ahead of her time, and she didn’t even know it.” - Women in History
: no information on photographerMarilyn Monroe, with her charming candor, is said to have once said to Einstein, “We could have a baby together. He would come out beautiful like me and smart like you". To which, the father of relativity, would have replied: "Well, I think he would come out faster with my beauty and your intelligence." Then it was not yet known (the tests were done later), that Marilyn Monroe's IQ was 165, five points above that of "the greatest genius of all time". Marilyn Monroe (Norma Jeane Baker, 1926-1962) was a great reader. She had a library in her house with about a thousand books and spent many hours reading literary works, poetry, theater, philosophy. Her spirit, in addition to a great desire to live, had an immense curiosity and an unbridled hunger for knowledge.
These are some of the wonderful quotes of this incredible woman: "One of the best things that happened to me is that I am a woman. All women should feel that way."
"Dogs don't bite. People do."
"I don't feel like spring. I feel like a hot red autumn."
"Laugh when you're sad. Crying is too easy."
"No one told me I was beautiful when I was a child. All children should be told they're beautiful, even if they're not."
"It's better to be alone than miserable with someone."
"Imperfection is beauty and madness is genius. It's better to be ridiculous than to be boring."
"Disappointments make you open your eyes and close your heart."
"I'm a little girl in a big world trying to find someone to love."
"I've never left someone I believed in."
"I have never cheated anyone. Sometimes I let men make their own mistakes."
"If I had followed all the rules, I wouldn't have gotten anywhere."
"It's easier to love a man than to live with him."
"Don't hang your head, keep your forehead up and smile, because life is a beautiful thing and you have many reasons to smile."
----
A belated happy birthday to Rainer Maria Rilke (1875-1926), Austro-German poet who became internationally famous with such works as "Duino Elegies" and "Sonnets to Orpheus". He has been acclaimed as an idiosyncratic and expressive poet, and is widely recognized as a significant writer in the German language. 
"Perhaps everything that frightens us is, in its deepest essence, something helpless that wants our love."
"We need, in love, to practice only this: letting each other go. For holding on comes easily; we do not need to learn it."
"I want to be with those who know secret things or else alone."
"For one human being to love another: that is perhaps the most difficult of all our tasks, the ultimate, the last test and proof, the work for which all other work is but preparation."
***
Photo: Penguin Classics
公視
鏡頭下的女神-夢露
播出語言：英? 法
透過她的知音所拍的照相集和旁白
呈現出少見的 相片傳記
----
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Marilyn_Monroe
-----
她讀Rilke 方式讓我想查德文和日文的翻譯
Happy Birthday Dear Rainer Maria Rilke born December 4, 1875.
*****
I love the dark hours of my being.
There I can find, as in old letters,
the days of my life, already lived,
and held like a legend, and understood.
Then the knowing comes: I can open
to another life that’s wide and timeless.
So I am sometimes like a tree
rustling over a gravesite
and making real the dream
of the one its living roots
embrace:
a dream once lost
among sorrows and songs.
- 〔rílk
〕
[名]Rainer Maria, リルケ（1875-1926）：オーストリアの詩人.
結果發現三種發音 i/e/
http://www.answers.com/topic/rainer-maria-rilke
You who let yourselves feel: enter the breathing
that is more than your own.
Let it brush your cheeks
as it divides and rejoins beside you.
you where the heart begins:
You are the bow that shoots the arrows
and you are the target.
Fear not the pain. Let its weight fall back
into the earth;
for heavy are the mountains, heavy the seas.
The trees you planted in childhood have grown
too heavy. You cannot bring them along.
Give yourselves to the air, to what you cannot hold.
Sonnets to Orpheus, Part One, IV
trans. Macy and Barrows
************
O ihr Zärtlichen, tretet zuweilen
in dem Atem, der euch nicht meint,
laß ihn an eueren Wangen sich teilen,
hinter euch zittert er, wieder vereint.
O ihr Seiligen, o ihr Heilen,
die ihr der Anfang der Herzen scheint.
Bogen der Pfeile und Ziele von Pfeilen,
ewiger glänzt euer Lächeln verweint.
Fürchtet euch nicht zu leiden, die Schwere,
gebt sie zurück an der Erde Gewicht;
schwer sind die Berge, schwer sind die Meere.
Selbst die als Kinder ihr pflanztet, die Bäume,
wurden zu schwer längst; ihr trüget sie nicht.
Aber die Lüfte … aber die Räume …
Look at the flowers, so faithful to what is earthly,
to whom we lend fate from the very border of fate.
And if they are sad about how they must wither and die,
perhaps it is our vocation to be their regret.
All Things want to fly. Only we are weighed down by desire,
caught in ourselves and enthralled with our heaviness.
—Rilke from Sonnets to Orpheus, translated by Stephen Mitchell
Image by Mia Tarney
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