Do Not Go Into The Woods by George Trakl
The gingerbread house lures us
with walnuts, glace cherries, icing
but it is thatched with innocents' hair.
There are dark pools,
and bracken arching over lairs
of trapdoor spiders.
The witch slips a finger bone
into her apron pocket
before polishing a red apple.
Children, a god is watching you
from the saucer eyes of owls,
and your small lives are nothing to him.
I've been searching for another poet to feature in Sunday poetry blogging, ever since I posted almost of Anna Akhmatova's translated poetry. Today, I'm introducing George Trakl. More about him in coming weeks. For now, lean back and enjoy the words.
Art found here.
3 comments:
I love this. And I did not know this poet.
Thank you for making this poem available to us. Great choice of art, too.
Sia
This is amazing. I got a Great Dane puppy recently, and we are now "crate training" the dog.
Each night before bed, I spontaneously starting telling him a little story about how he was born in a magic forest, and how we could follow the gingerbread crumbs to the huge and yummy ginderbread house in the forest.
At first, he wouldn't go in, and then I foolishly added a wicked witch to try to scare him into running into the crate, but what turned out best was the story of the magic house, and then he RUN into the crate happily and eat the "doggie treat" crumbs that I put out to lead him into the crate.
Now he loves this little story! And here is your post about a ginderbread house!!!
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