An einen Frühverstorbenen

An einen Frühverstorbenen (Georg Trakl – 1915)
O, der schwarze Engel, der leise aus dem Innern des Baums trat,
Da wir sanfte Gespielen am Abend waren,
Am Rand des bläulichen Brunnens.
Ruhig war unser Schritt, die runden Augen in der braunen Kühle des Herbstes,
O, die purpurne Süße der Sterne.
Jener aber ging die steinernen Stufen des Mönchsbergs hinab,
Ein blaues Lächeln im Antlitz und seltsam verpuppt
In seine stillere Kindheit und starb;
Und im Garten blieb das silberne Antlitz des Freundes zurück,
Lauschend im Laub oder im alten Gestein.
Seele sang den Tod, die grüne Verwesung des Fleisches
Und es war das Rauschen des Walds,
Die inbrünstige Klage des Wildes.
Immer klangen von dämmernden Türmen die blauen Glocken des Abends.
Stunde kam, da jener die Schatten in purpurner Sonne sah,
Die Schatten der Fäulnis in kahlem Geäst;
Abend, da an dämmernder Mauer die Amsel sang,
Der Geist des Frühverstorbenen stille im Zimmer erschien.
O, das Blut, das aus der Kehle des Tönenden rinnt,
Blaue Blume; o die feurige Träne
Geweint in die Nacht.
Goldene Wolke und Zeit. In einsamer Kammer
Lädst du öfter den Toten zu Gast,
Wandelst in trautem Gespräch unter Ulmen den grünen Fluß hinab.

(written in German)


To one who died early

O, the black angel who stepped quietly from inside the tree
When we were soft playmates in the evening
At the edge of the bluish fountain.
Our step was calm, the round eyes in the brown coolness of autumn,
O, the purple sweetness of the stars.
But the other one descended the stony stages of the Mönchsberg,
A blue smile on the countenance and strangely pupated
In his silenter childhood and died;
And the silver countenance of the friend remained in the garden,
Listening in leaf or in ancient stones.
Soul sang death, the green rot of the flesh
And it was the murmur of the forest,
The fervent lament of the deer.
Always the blue evening bells rang from the dusky towers.
Hour came when the other one saw the shadows in the purple sun,
The shadows of putrescence in bleak branches;
Evening, when the blackbird sang by dusking wall,
The ghost of the one who died early silently appeared in the room.
O, the blood that runs from the throat of the sounding one,
Blue flower; o the fiery tear
Wept in the night.
Golden cloud and time. In a lonely chamber
You invite the dead person to be a guest more often,
Wander in intimate conversation under elms down the green river.

Georg Trakl portrait

Georg Trakl

Georg Trakl (1887-1914) was born and lived the first 21 years of his life in Salzburg. His father came from Hungary, while his mother was of Czech descent. Read more…

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