Rilke’s poetry is always better than his other works (and than most other poetry). The life of the sensitive author stand-in protagonist in the big city is anxiety inducing, depressing, just โฆ too much. And Rilke describes it perfectly. Over one hundred years later, life is even faster, even louder, even more relentless โ one wonders if today’s Rilkes can even survive long enough to write about it.
I'm currently behind on reviews, so don't be surprised if the recent reviews are a bit sparse.