Poetry       Prose       Letters

Georg Trakl


Winter Twilight

To Max von Esterle

Black skies of metal.
In the evening hunger-maddened crows
Blow slantwise through red storms
Over parks sorrowful and sallow.

A sunbeam freezes to death in the clouds;
And before Satan's curses
They turn within the circle and go
Down sevenfold in number.

In putrefaction sweet and stale
Their beaks mow noiselessly.
Houses threaten from mute proximities;
Brightness in the theater hall.

Churches, bridges, and hospitals
Stand grimly in the twilight.
Blood-stained linens billow
Like sails upon the canal.


© Jim Doss & Werner Schmitt



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