Dusk Poem by Georg Trakl
Dusk
You are rumpled, distorted by every pain
And shake with the discord of all melodies,
You burst harp - a poor heart,
From which gloom's sick flowers bloom.
Who has ordered the enemy, the murderer for you,
That stole the last spark of your soul,
How he makes this scanty world godless
To a whore, ugly, ill, pale with putrefaction!
From shadows a wild dance still swings
To frizzily ruptured, soulless sound,
A round dance around beauty's thorn wreath,
Which witheringly crowns the lost winner,
- A bad trophy for that fought desperation,
And that does not reconcile the bright divinity.
I have been reading and re-reading Trakl's poems for over fifty years, and they still haunt like newly discovered poetic treasures. Often I am struck by the objective voice and the subjective content. There are threads that connect him to visionary poets like Holderlin and Novalis, but other times these threads unravel. Then he strikes me as sui generis. Robert Bly commented, IMAGES FOLLOW ONE ANOTHER IN A WAY THAT IS SOMEHOW STATELY. That rhythm suggests Trakl's formality, also his inward-turning disposition. Rilke noted that Trakl made the IMAGE independent of context. This amazing quality is the source of his flood of imagery often of decay, evil, alienation, deep silence. Trakl is always on the edge of a precipice, but you don't have to be there. You can just read the poem.
Due to one's own wrong setup all gloom in life engulfs one ever indeed!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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4/16/2024 3:49:06 AM # 1.0.0.1119
A poor heart, facing the problems of life. Nice piece of work.