Georg Trakl Poems

The stillness of the deceased loves the old garden,

The madwoman who dwelled in blue rooms,

In the evening the still shape appears in the window

She, however, closes the yellowed curtain -
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With rosy stages the stone sinks in the moor

Song of gliding and black laughter

Figures go in and out of rooms

And death grins bony in black boat.
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A carpet, into which the suffering landscape pales

Perhaps the Sea of Galilee, a boat in the gale

Golden things fall out of storm clouds

Insanity, that seizes the gentle human.
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Rosy mirror: an ugly image

That appears in the black background,

Blood weeps from broken eyes

Blaspheming plays with dead snakes.
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The song of the spring rain is dark in the night,

Under the clouds the showers of rosy pear blossoms

Trickery of the heart, chant and insanity of the night.

Fiery angels who step from deceased eyes.
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A faun-cry romps through sparks,

In the parks cascades of light foam,

Metallic vapors around steel arcades

Of the city which rolls around the sun.
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Red spheres often emerge from branches,

Snowed under softly and black by a long snowfall.

The priest escorts the dead person.

The nights are fulfilled by celebrations of masks.
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The house is empty. Fall in the room.
The moon’s lone glow
and a birth at the edge of the dawning woods.
Forever your thoughts turn to the ashen face of your people,
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September evening. The somber calls of the herdsmen float
across the dimming village. Molten metal sparks in the blacksmith’s.
A massive horse rears darkly back. To the fervor of its blazing nostrils
the hyacinth curls of the servant girl cling.
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Over the forests the moon

Gleams pale, makes us dream,

The willow by the dark pond

Weeps soundlessly in the night.
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