Poetry       Prose       Letters

Georg Trakl


De profundis

It is a stubble field in which a black rain falls.
It is a brown tree that stands alone there.
It is a hissing wind that circles empty huts.
How sad this evening.

Past the hamlet
The gentle orphan still gathers sparse ears of corn.
Her eyes graze round and golden in the dusk
And her womb awaits the heavenly bridegroom.

On the way home
Shepherds found the sweet body
Putrefied in the thorn bush.

I am a shadow far from sinister villages.
I drank God's silence
From the fountain in the grove.

Upon my forehead cold metal steps
Spiders seek my heart.
It is a light that extinguishes in my mouth.

At night I found myself on a heath
Covered with rubbish and the dust of stars.
In the hazel bush
Crystal angels sounded once more.


© Jim Doss & Werner Schmitt



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