1 min read
Слушать(AI)In The East
Like the wild organs of the winter
Is the people gloomy rage,
The purple billow of
Of stars leaf-stripped.
With broken brows, silvery
The night beckons to dying soldiers.
In the autumnal ash-tree’s
The ghosts of the killed are sighing.
Thorny wilderness surrounds the town.
From steps that bleeds the
Drives off dumbfounded women.
Wild wolves have burst through the gate.
Georg Trakl
Georg Trakl (3 February 1887 – 3 November 1914) was an Austrian poet and brother of the pianist Grete Trakl. He is considered one of the most im
Comments
You need to be signed in to write comments
Other author posts
Psalm
It is a light, that the wind has extinguished It is a pub on the heath, that a drunk departs in the afternoon It is a vineyard, charred and black with holes full of spiders It is a space, that they have white-limed with milk
Lament
Sleep and death, the dusky Around this head swoop all night long; Eternity’s icy Would swallow the golden
Winter Evening
When snow falls against the window, Long sounds the evening bell…For so many has the Been prepared, the house set in order From their wandering,
De Profundis
There is a stubble field on which a black rain falls There is a tree which, brown, stands lonely here There is a hissing wind which haunts deserted huts—-How sad this evening Past the village
