Saturday, September 06, 2008

Weekend Trakl Blogging

Under the trimmed willows, where brown children
are playing
And leaves tumbling, the trumpets blow. A quaking
of cemeteries.
Banners of scarlet rattle through a sadness of maple
Riders along rye-fields, empty mills.
Or shepherds sing during the night, and stags step
Into the circle of their fire, the grove’s sorrow
immensely old,
Dancing, they loom up from one black wall;
Banners of scarlet, laughter, insanity, trumpets.

~George Trakl, trans. by Robt. Bly

I love trumpets.


left rev said...

Wow! Breathtakingly beautiful.

I played the trumpet a long time ago in a galaxy far, far away. There were six girls and one guy in our section, so of course, we were the "trumpet strumpets."

We kicked brass. :)

Reema dsouza said...

I think, and it feels through all the articles, that you have mastered your subject from end to end.

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