Trickery of the heart, chant and insanity of the night.
Fiery angels who step from deceased eyes.
Similar Posts
The blueness dies out in my eyes tonight,
Your cloak of sadness encircles the long descent.Your red lips seal your friend’s unhinging.Translated by Eric Plattner……………………………………………………………………NachtsDie Bläue meiner Augen ist erloschen in dieser Nacht,Das rote Gold meines Herzens. O! wie stille brannte das Licht.Dein blauer Mantel umfing den Sinkenden;Dein roter Mund besiegelte des Freundes Umnachtung.
1
A soft insanity gropes on wallpapers,On windows, reddish beds of geraniums,Daffodils also and more chaste in wasting awayAs alabaster which gleams in the garden.In blue veils India ‘s mornings smile.Their sweet incense scares away the stranger’s worries,Sleepless night by the pond because of Angela.His pain rests hidden in an empty mask,Thoughts which steal away blackly…
In the dark many bird voices call,
In the clouds a rose-colored glow soundsLike early love’s distress. The night blues away –With shy hands the twilight softly polishesThe love lair, feverishly stirred up,And lets the drunkenness of languished kisses endIn dreams, smiling and felt half-awake.
Huts of childhood are in autumn,
Singing mothers in the evening wind;At windows Angelus and hands fold.Still birth; on green groundMystery and stillness of blue flowers.Insanity opens the purple mouth:Dies irae – grave and stillness.Groping along green thorns;In the sleep: blood-vomit, hunger and laughter;Fire in the village, awakening in the green;Fear and swaying on gurgling boat.Or in wooden staircase againThe white…
The sun paints courtyard and walls with autumn,
Before them poor children cower.A gust thins out old linden-trees.Through the gate a golden shower rainsAnd the women blessed with childTiredly rest on rotten benches.Drunkards swing glasses and jugs.A hoodlum lets his fiddle soundAnd smocks swell lustfully in the dance.Roughly brown bodies embrace.From windows empty eyes gaze.Stench rises from the fountain’s mirror.And black, decayed, departedThe…
Hohenburg
The moon’s lone glowand a birth at the edge of the dawning woods.Forever your thoughts turn to the ashen face of your people,removed from the bedlam of time.Over the dreamer green branches bend eagerly,cross and evening.With bruised arms his star envelops the Song of Songs.Towards the unpeopled window it ascends.Thus the stranger shudders in blackness,as…