![]() ![]() As does the beloved sister, moving ghostly through these lines, among the falling rotten fruit and through the damp fields beneath a high-flying flock of wild birds, their cries yet fading in the void left by their departure. Trakl, deep stalwart poet of the forever melancholy, never maudlin in the perpetual fading light of his blood-red sunsets, striding down deserted lanes outside of time, always autumnal even in ‘Summer’ where ‘the lament of the cuckoo grows quiet in the woods’ and ‘the leaves of the chestnut stir no more’. Pass through the veil into the dead-adjacent word fields of Georg Trakl, where ‘the waters rush like fire’ and ‘bloodbranches stir the crystal stars’. When the servants beat their gentle eyes with nettles, How their hair stands stiffened with filth and worms,Īnd the deceased begin emerging from empty rooms.Īnd you, psalms, in the fiery midnight rains, They have left to stay with white, old men.Īt night the sleeper found them under the columns of the hallway, Sends poisonous flowers blossoming from my mouth,Īnd how the dew falls, pale and shimmering, from the branchesĪs if from a wound, and falls, and falls like blood. The stars were dancing madly against their blue background. I saw myself walking through deserted rooms. In the courtyard a white autumn moon is shining.įantastic shadows fall from the edge of the roof. ![]() Lean silently over the blue face of a pond.Ī tree is consumed by red flames. Long for the fervor of its purple nostrils.Īt the edge of the forest a doe moans quietly Fire sputters in the foundry.Ī black horse rears violently. September evening the calls of the shepherds make a mournful sound Of course he wrote poetry-damn right great poetry- like this. Of course he raised the eyebrows of the local physician. ![]()
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