Georg Trakl

(3 February 1887 - 3 November 1914 / Salzburg)

Georg Trakl Poems

41. Nocturnal Lament 4/6/2012
42. To Johnanna 4/6/2012
43. Please 4/6/2012
44. Autumnal Homecoming 4/6/2012
45. Remnant 4/6/2012
46. Homecoming 4/6/2012
47. Untitled: The Blue Night 4/6/2012
48. Untitled: O The Dwelling 4/6/2012
49. In The Evening 4/6/2012
50. December 4/6/2012
51. December Sonnet 4/6/2012
52. Deliriums 4/6/2012
53. In The Moonlight 4/6/2012
54. Fairy Tale 4/6/2012
55. Quaint Spring 4/6/2012
56. Summer Sonata 4/6/2012
57. Luminous Hour 4/6/2012
58. Decay 4/6/2012
59. At The Cementary 4/6/2012
60. Night Song 4/6/2012
61. Exhausting 4/6/2012
62. The Deep Song 4/6/2012
63. Ballad 4/6/2012
64. Three Dreams 4/6/2012
65. The Rats 2/3/2012
66. In Darkness 2/3/2012
67. The Sun 2/3/2012
68. Evening Song 2/3/2012
69. The Fall Of The Deserted 2/3/2012
70. Mankind 2/3/2012
71. The Heart 2/3/2012
72. Landscape 2/3/2012
73. Song Of The Western Countries 2/3/2012
74. By A Window 4/6/2012
75. Perfection 4/6/2012
76. Metamorphosis 4/6/2012
77. Silence 4/6/2012
78. Age 4/6/2012
79. The Shadow 4/6/2012
80. The Dead Church 4/6/2012
Best Poem of Georg Trakl

Grodek

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 ...

Read the full of Grodek

Psalm

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.

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