Poetry       Prose       Letters

Georg Trakl


The Thunderstorm Evening

O the red evening hours!
Glimmering by the open window
Vine leaves sway woozily curled in the blue,
Specters of fear nestled inside.

Dust dances in the stench of the gutters.
Rattling, the wind knocks at the panes.
Thunderbolts from garish clouds
Drive a herd of wild horses.

Loudly the pond's mirror bursts.
Gulls cry near the window frames.
A fiery horseman gallops from the hill
And smashes to flames in the firs.

The sick screech in the hospital.
The night's plumage whirs bluish.
Glistening all at once
Rain roars down upon the roofs.


© Jim Doss & Werner Schmitt



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