Sunday, May 17, 2015

Perfect Is The Silence

—Anonymous Photo

—Georg Trakl (1887-1914)


Perfect is the silence of this golden day.
Beneath ancient oaktrees
You appear, Elis, at rest with wide eyes.

Their blue mirrors the slumber of lovers.
On your mouth
Their rosy sighs were stilled.

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

Softly the blue silence
Of the olive tree sinks near the naked walls,
The dark song of an old man dies away.

A golden skiff,
Your heart rocks, Elis, on the lonely sky.


A gentle glockenspiel sings in Elis' breast
At evening,
When his head sinks into the black pillow.

A blue prey
Bleeds softly in the thornbrush.

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

Signs and stars
Sink softly in the evening pond.

Beyond the hill it has turned winter.

At night
Blue doves drink up the icy sweat
That flows from Elis' crystal brow.

Along black walls
Forever drones the lonely wind of God.

(trans. from the German by Robert Firmage)