Poetry       Prose       Letters

Georg Trakl



Along gardens, autumnal, seared red:
Here a strenuous life is revealed in stillness.
The hands of man carry brown vines
While the gentle pain in the glance subsides.

At evening: steps go through black land,
Appearer in the silence of red beeches.
A blue animal wants to bow before death
And gruesomely an empty vestment decays.

Peaceful scene plays out before an inn,
Intoxicated, a face has sunk in the grass.
Fruits of the elder, flutes soft and drunk,
Scent of mignonettes washes around females.


© Jim Doss & Werner Schmitt



Poetry       Prose       Letters

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