Poetry       Prose       Letters

Georg Trakl


Small Concert

A red, which dreamily unnerves you -
Through your hands the sun shines.
You feel your heart, crazy with joy,
Silently prepare itself for an act.

Yellow fields stream into noon.
You barely hear the cricket's singing,
The mowers' hard scythe-swings.
Simple-minded, the golden forests fall silent.

Decay glows in the green pool.
The fish stand still. Gently God's breath
Awakens string music in the exhalation.
The flood beckons recovery to lepers.

Daedalus' ghost floats in blue shadows,
A scent of milk in hazel branches.
You still hear the teacher's violin playing long,
The cry of the rats in the empty yard.

Cooler violet colors bloom
In tankards on hideous wallpapers.
Dark voices died in quarrel,
Narcissus in the final chord of flutes.


© Jim Doss & Werner Schmitt



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