Reading Rainbow: Letters to a Young Poet

I stop by Capitol Hill Books, the place to buy used books in Eastern Market. Books crowd the walls like anxious Catholics waiting to see the pope: Non-fiction in piles on the stairs; foreign language above the toilet in the bathroom; poetry in the sink of the upstairs kitchen.

I’m looking for Ranier Maria Rilke’s, Letters to a Young Poet. This sacred text was introduced into my cannon by Birdie, one of my oldest Utah friends. I’m reading it again, marking the margins and gifting it to Young Apollo. With Letters, Birdie also passed on the AMAZING (slash - potentially annoying) habit of marking up books and giving them away. When you read one of Birdie’s books, you’re letting her guide you around her favorite passages and share her thoughts on its beauty.

I’m passing one on to Young Apollo because he hasn’t read it, and no one should be denied beauty. I try to keep my highlighting to a minimum, but in Letter One, I can’t help but star the passage, corner-fold the page, and attach flashing lights, just to be obnoxiously clear that THIS IS A FAVORITE PASSAGE!

“If your everyday life seems poor, don't blame it; blame yourself; admit to yourself that you are not enough of a poet to call forth its riches.”

I also highlight parts of Letter Seven.

“It is also good to love: because love is difficult. For one human being to love another human being: that is perhaps the most difficult task that has been entrusted to us, the ultimate task, the final test and proof, the work for which all other work is merely preparation.”

Here I have to be careful. I don’t want to wax cheesy (NO hearts, stars or unicorns), but this sentiment might just BE my raison d’etre. But since stars and exclamation points won’t augment this statement, I hush my pencil and choose to let Young Apollo experience the scenery without my commentary or flashing lights (something about… silence being important, the best policy, very COOL, and like, totally RAD).