Saturday, 3 September 2011

georg trakl

To Klaus Borromäus Heinrich

Over the white pond,
The wild birds have journeyed on.
At evening an icy wind blows from our stars.

Over our graves
Leans the shattered brow of the night.
Beneath oaks we rock in a silver boat.

Ever the white walls of the city ring out.
Beneath arches of thorn
O my brother, our blind hour-hands climb towards midnight.

trans by will stone


Danish dog said...

Interesting piece. Line 5 needs fixing.

swiss said...


Marion McCready said...

lovely, been meaning to get some Trakl for a while now

swiss said...

i have a feeling you will love trakl! i got this edition last year at stanza after hearing wils tone rad some of his translations