Quotes from Georg Trakl

Under the trimmed willows, where brown children are playing And leaves tumbling, the trumpets blow. A quaking of cemeteries. Banners of scarlet rattle through a sadness of maple trees, Riders along rye-fields, empty mills. Or shepherds sing during the night, and stags step delicately Into the circle of their fire, the grove's sorrow immensely old, Dancing, they loom up from one black wall; Banners of scarlet, laughter, insanity, trumpets

Silently night appears, a wild thing bleeding Which slowly sinks to earth on the hillside.

Pensive chest nut tree in tavern garden. The damp bells have grown silent. A young lad sings by the stream - Fire seeking out darkness -

Vision of the night: toads plunge from silver waters.

So quiet are the green woods Of our homeland, The crystalline wave Dying away by the ruined wall, And we wept in sleep; Wandering with timid steps Down past the thorny thicket, Singers in summer's eve, In the sacred peace Of the far resplendent vineyard; Shadows now in the cool womb Of night, grief-stricken eagles. As gently does a moonlit beam close The scarlet scars of melancholy.

The dead paint a sneering silence on the walls With their white hands.

Dear Herr Loos, After a month-long tour through all of Galicia I send you the most kind regards. I was quite ill for some days, I believe from inexpressible sorrow. Today I am glad because most certainly we will march to the north and will perhaps invade Russia in as soon as a few days. The most cordial greetings to Mr. Kraus.

In ein altes Stammbuch Immer wieder kehrst du Melancholie, O Sanftmut der einsamen Seele. Zu Ende glüht ein goldener Tag. Demutsvoll beugt sich dem Schmerz der Geduldige Tönend von Wohllaut und weichem Wahnsinn. Siehe! es dämmert schon. Wieder kehrt die Nacht und klagt ein Sterbliches Und es leidet ein anderes mit. Schaudernd unter herbstlichen Sternen Neigt sich jährlich tiefer das Haupt.

Spiders seek my heart. There is a light that dies in my mouth. At night I found myself upon a heath, Thick with filth and stardust. In the hazel copse Crystal angels have chimed again.

A black cavern is our silence.

Feeling at moments of deathlike being; all human beings are worthy of love. Waking you feel the bitterness of the world; therein lies all your unresolved guilt; your poem an imperfect penance.

Returning home The shepherds found the sweet body Decayed in the thorn-bush. I am a shadow far from sombre villages. God's silence I drank from the spring in the grove. Cold metal enters upon my brow, Spiders seek out my heart. There is a light that goes out in my mouth. At night I found myself on a heath, Stiff with refuse and dust of stars. In the hazel-bush Crystalline angels sounded again.

Shuddering under the autumn stars, each year, the head sinks lower and lower.

The near stillness recalls what is forgotten, extinct angels.