Quaint Spring
Probably around the deep midday,
I lay on an old stone,
Before me in quaint dress
Three angels stood in the sunshine.
O ominous spring year!
In the acre the last snow melted,
And the birch's hair hung quivering
In the cold, clear lake.
From the sky a blue ribbon blew,
And beautifully a cloud flowed within,
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poem by Georg Trakl
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Blood Guilt
Night threatens at the bed of our kisses.
Somewhere a whisper: who absolves your guilt?
Still trembling from the sweetness of nefarious lust
We pray: forgive us, Mary, in your mercy.
Out of flower vases greedy scents climb,
Wheedling our foreheads pale with guilt.
Exhausting under the waft of sultry air
We dream: forgive us, Mary, in your mercy.
But the well of the sirens rushes louder,
And the sphinx rises darker before our guilt,
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poem by Georg Trakl
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Melancholy
The blue soul has mutely closed,
In the open window the brown forest sinks,
The stillness of dark animals; in the valley
The mill grinds, by the footbridge clouds rest outpoured,
The golden strangers. A procession of steeds
Gallops red in the village. The garden brown and cold.
The aster freezes, so delicately painted on the fence
The sunflower's gold almost flown away.
The stumpets' voices; dew is poured out
On the hard grass and stars white and cold.
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poem by Georg Trakl
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Decay
A wind is blowing! The green lights
Sing extinguished - large and satiated
The moon fulfils the high hall,
Where no more celebrations sound through.
The ancestral portraits quietly smile
And far-off - their last shadow fell,
The room is sultry with putrefaction,
Arround which ravens mutely move in circles.
A lost sense of past times
Looks from the stony masks,
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poem by Georg Trakl
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Season
Ruby-veins crept into the foliage.
Then the pond was calm and wide.
By the forest's edge brightly scattered
Bluish speckles and brown dust lay.
A fisherman drew in his nets.
Then dusk came over the field.
But, a yard shined still palely illuminated
And maids brought fruit and wine.
Distantly a shepherd's song died after.
Then huts stood bleak and strange.
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poem by Georg Trakl
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On the Death of an Old Woman
Often I listen full of horror at the door
And when I arrive it seems to me that someone fled,
And her eyes see past me
Dreamily, as if they would see me elsewhere.
Thus she sits completely stooped in herself and listens
And seems far-off from the things around her,
However, she trembles when noise rushes at the window,
And then cries still, just like an anxious child.
And caresses her white hair with tired hand
And asks with paled glance: Must I go already?
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poem by Georg Trakl
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Untitled: O the Dwelling
O the dwelling in the stillness of the dusking garden,
When the eyes of the sister round and dark opened in the brother,
The purple of their broken mouths
Melted in the coolness of the evening.
Heart-breaking hour.
September ripened the golden pear. Sweetness of incense
And the dahlia burns at the old fence
Say! where were we, when we passed by on small black boat
In the evening,
The crane passed over. The freezing arms
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poem by Georg Trakl
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The Dark Valley
n pines a migration of crows flutters away
And green evening fogs rise
And like in dream a sound of violins
And maids run to the dance in the inn.
One hears laughter and shouts of drunkards,
A shower goes through old yews.
In deathly pale window panes
The shadows of the dancers scurry past.
It smells of wine and thyme
And lonely calling resounds through the forest.
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poem by Georg Trakl
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Colorful Autumn
The fountain sings, the clouds stand
In clear blueness, white, delicate;
Silent people wander thoughtfully
Down there in the evening-blue garden.
The ancestors' marble has turned grey.
A line of birds streaks into the distance
A faun with dead eyes gazes
On shadows that glide into darkness.
Leaves fall red from the old tree,
Rotate inside through the open window.
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poem by Georg Trakl
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Sabbath
A whiff of feverish poisonous plants
Makes me dream in moony dusks,
And quietly I feel entwined, embraced,
And see like a sabbath of insane witches
Blood-colored blossoms in the mirrors' brightness
Pressing flaming prurience from my heart,
And their lips experienced in all arts
Swell furiously near my drunken throat.
Pestilence colored flowers of tropical beaches,
Offer her chalices to my lips,
Cloudy drool-fountains of nauseating tortures.
And one gobbles - o raving Maenad -
My flesh, drooped from the sultry vapors,
And ecstaticized in pain by terrible prurience.
poem by Georg Trakl
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