Georg Trakl Poems
|47.||Untitled: The Blue Night||4/6/2012|
|48.||Untitled: O The Dwelling||4/6/2012|
|49.||In The Evening||4/6/2012|
|53.||In The Moonlight||4/6/2012|
|59.||At The Cementary||4/6/2012|
|62.||The Deep Song||4/6/2012|
|69.||The Fall Of The Deserted||2/3/2012|
|73.||Song Of The Western Countries||2/3/2012|
|74.||By A Window||4/6/2012|
|80.||The Dead Church||4/6/2012|
At evening the autumn woodlands ring
With deadly weapons. Over the golden plains
And lakes of blue, the sun
More darkly rolls. The night surrounds
Warriors dying and the wild lament
Of their fragmented mouths.
Yet silently there gather in the willow combe
Red clouds inhabited by an angry god,
Shed blood, and the chill of the moon.
All roads lead to black decay.
Under golden branching of the night and stars
A sister's shadow sways through the still grove
To greet the heroes' spirits, the bloodied heads.
And softly in the reeds Autumn's dark flutes ...
It is a light, that the wind has extinguished.
It is a pub on the heath, that a drunk departs in the afternoon.
It is a vineyard, charred and black with holes full of spiders.
It is a space, that they have white-limed with milk.
The madman has died. It is a South Sea island,
Receiving the Sun-God. One makes the drums roar.
The men perform warlike dances.
The women sway their hips in creeping vines and fire-flowers,
Whenever the ocean sings. O our lost Paradise.