Decline
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
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4 comments:
Interesting piece. Line 5 needs fixing.
fixed...
lovely, been meaning to get some Trakl for a while now
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
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