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Georg Trakl
Probably my favorite poet of all time.
You might enjoy reading the preview in the link below.
https://www.jstor.org/stable/2555503...n_tab_contents
Or a different full brief article below.
https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poets/georg-trakl
https://www.neckar-chronik.de/Bilder...-epd-47147.jpg
Regards from the kindly one,
Dna8
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In Red Foliage Full of Guitars...
In red foliage full of guitars
The girls' yellow hair blows
At the fence, where sunflowers stand.
A golden cart drives through the clouds.
In the rest of brown shadows
The old grow silent, embrace dim-wittedly.
Orphans sing sweetly for vespers.
Flies buzz in yellow steams.
At the brook the women still wash.
The hung-up linens billow.
The small child, whom I have long liked,
Comes again through evening's grayness.
Sparrows fall from mild skies
Into green holes filled with rottenness.
A smell of bread and harsh spices
Feigns recovery to the hungry one.
Dream of Evil
Fading away of a gong's brown-golden sounds -
A lover awakens in black rooms
The cheek near flames that flicker in the window.
In the river sails, masts, and ropes flash.
A monk, a pregnant woman there in the crowd.
Guitars strum, red smocks gleam.
Chestnuts shrivel sultry in golden shine;
The churches' sad pageantry towers black.
The spirit of evil watches from pale masks.
A square dusks gruesome and somber.
In the evening whispers stir on the islands.
Lepers read confused signs from the flight
Of birds, perhaps decay during the night.
In the park siblings meet trembling.
In Autumn
Sunflowers shine near the fence,
Silently sick people sit in the sunshine.
Women strive singing in the acre,
Into which monastery bells chime.
Birds tell you a far away tale
Into which monastery bells chime.
From the courtyard the violin sounds
softly.
Today they press the brown wine.
Now man appears glad and dulcet.
Today they press the brown wine.
The chambers of the dead are open wide
And beautifully painted with sunshine
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In Autumn is my favorite Trakl poem.
It saddened me, I wasn't able to locate a satisfactory translation on the internet, to post here for you, members.
I made do with a good translation.
I once owned a semi hard cover of a book of Trakl poems translated into English, exhibited below - Lehbert's translations are incredible according to Dna8, who, the latter, cannot speak German, and speaks English with a thick Afrikaans accent.
Lehbert's version of, 'In Autumn', is probably the poem that has moved me farther than any other poem has shifted me in my life.
What I am trying to say is that it is my favorite poem of all time, okay?
https://encrypted-tbn0.gstatic.com/i...YZjrwv4hjvV9Oc
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The below poem is a tribute to Trakl's silence, the musicality of his poems.
Sunny Afternoon
A branch rocks me in the deep blue.
In the frolicking, autumnal leaf-tangle
Moths flicker, intoxicated and crazy.
Ax blows resound in the floodplain.
My mouth bites into red berries
And light and shadows sway in the foliage.
For hours golden dust falls
Crackling in the brown ground.
The thrush laughs from the bushes
And frolicking and loudly the autumnal leaf-tangle
Strikes together above me -
Fruits detach bright and heavy.
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My favourite poet - his best poem is Verfall (Decay) in my opinion.
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Quote:
Originally Posted by
Adamastor
I think he was Eastbaltid-Faelid-Nordid.
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„Am Abend, wenn die Glocken Frieden läuten,
Folg ich der Vögel wundervollen Flügen,
Die lang geschart, gleich frommen Pilgerzügen,
Entschwinden in den herbstlich klaren Weiten.
Hinwandelnd durch den dämmervollen Garten
Träum ich nach ihren helleren Geschicken
Und fühl der Stunden Weiser kaum mehr rücken.
So folg ich über Wolken ihren Fahrten.
Da macht ein Hauch mich von Verfall erzittern.
Die Amsel klagt in den entlaubten Zweigen.
Es schwankt der rote Wein an rostigen Gittern,
Indes wie blasser Kinder Todesreigen
Um dunkle Brunnenränder, die verwittern,
Im Wind sich fröstelnd blaue Astern neigen.“
Verfall
(I couldn´t find an english version of the poem.)
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On my way to the Soup Kitchen I stopped to catch my breath by a statue of Trakl, and, thinking of the music the latter generated, I began to weep.
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Am Abend tönen die herbstlichen Wälder
Von tödlichen Waffen, die goldnen Ebenen
Und blauen Seen, darüber die Sonne
Düstrer hinrollt; umfängt die Nacht
Sterbende Krieger, die wilde Klage
Ihrer zerbrochenen Münder.
Doch stille sammelt im Weidengrunde
Rotes Gewölk, darin ein zürnender Gott wohnt
Das vergossne Blut sich, mondne Kühle;
Alle Straßen münden in schwarze Verwesung.
Unter goldnem Gezweig der Nacht und Sternen
Es schwankt der Schwester Schatten durch den schweigenden Hain,
Zu grüßen die Geister der Helden, die blutenden Häupter;
Und leise tönen im Rohr die dunkeln Flöten des Herbstes.
O stolzere Trauer! ihr ehernen Altäre
Die heiße Flamme des Geistes nährt heute ein gewaltiger Schmerz,
Die ungebornen Enkel.
Grodek