Poetry       Prose       Letters

Georg Trakl




Perfect is the stillness of this golden day.
Under ancient oaks
You appear, Elis, as one at rest with round eyes.

Their blue mirrors the slumber of lovers.
By your mouth
Their rosy sighs fell silent.

In the evening fisherman hauled in heavy nets.
A good shepherd
Leads his flock along the forest's edge.
O! how righteous, Elis, are all your days.

The olive tree's blue silence sinks along bare walls,
The dark song of an old man dies off.

A golden boat
Rocks your heart, Elis, in the lonely sky.


In the evening,
A faint chime sounds in Elis' breast
As his head sinks into the black pillow.

A blue deer
Gently bleeds in the thorn brush.

A brown tree stands isolated there;
Its blue fruits have fallen from it.

Signs and stars
Sink down softly in the evening pond.

Behind the hill it has become winter.

At night
Blue doves drink the icy sweat
Which flows from Elis' crystal forehead.

God's lonely wind resounds along black walls.


© Jim Doss & Werner Schmitt



Poetry       Prose       Letters

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