Poetry       Prose       Letters

Georg Trakl


In a Deserted Room

Window, colorful flowerbeds,
An organ plays within.
Shadows dance on wallpapers,
A fantastically strange pattern.

Ablaze the bushes waver
And a swarm of gnats oscillates.
Far away scythes mow in the acre
And an ancient water sings.

Whose breath comes to caress me?
Swallows draw insane signs.
Softly there in the boundlessness
The golden woodland flows out.

Flames flicker in the flowerbeds.
Woozily on yellowish wallpapers
The strange pattern enraptures.
Someone looks in through the door.

Incense smells sweet and pear-like,
And glass and chest darken with dusk.
Slowly the hot forehead
Bends toward white stars.


© Jim Doss & Werner Schmitt



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