On The Eastern Front
The ominous anger of masses of men
Is like the wild organ of the winter storm,
The purple surge of battle,
Leafless stars.
With broken eyebrows and silver arms
The night waves to dying soldiers.
In the shade of the ash tree of autumn
The souls of the slain are sighing.
A thorny desert surrounds the city.
The moon chases the shocked women
From the bleeding stairways.
Wild wolves have broken through the door
poem by Georg Trakl
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In The East
Like the wild organs of the winter storm
Is the people gloomy rage,
The purple billow of battle
Of stars leaf-stripped.
With broken brows, silvery arms
The night beckons to dying soldiers.
In the autumnal ash-tree’s shade
The ghosts of the killed are sighing.
Thorny wilderness surrounds the town.
From steps that bleeds the moon
Drives off dumbfounded women.
Wild wolves have burst through the gate.
poem by Georg Trakl
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The Heart
The wild heart grew white in the forest;
Dark anxiety
Of death, as when the gold
Died in the grey cloud.
An evening in November.
A crowd of needy women stood at the bare gate
Of the slaughterhouse;
Rotten meat and guts fell
Into every basket;
Horrible food.
The blue dove of the evening
Brought no forgiveness.
The dark cry of trumpets
Tr a v e l l e d i n t h e golden branches
Of the soaked elms,
A frayed flag
Smoking with blood,
To w h i c h a m a n l i s t e n s
In wild despair.
All your days of nobility, buried
In that red evening!
Out of the dark entrance hall
The golden shape
Of the young girl steps
Surrounded by the pale moon,
The prince’s court of autumn,
Black fir trees broken
In the night’s storm,
The steep fortress.
O heart
Glittering above in the snowy cold
poem by Georg Trakl
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Bullroarer
In the desert in the dry
Before the breaking of the rain
The temperature in the shade
Had reached a hundred and ten again
In the desert in the dry
On the overland telegraph line
Dont take the law into your own hands
Dont go looking for a fight
Ive heard the bullroarers
In the desert in the dry
Sun sits so high
Long days mile and the
Radio crackles and the bones bleached white
Its a knock-em-down storm
See the tin roof shake
Wild dog howls and the long grass
Whistles and the tall trees break
Ive seen the wild horses
Ive heard the bullroarers
Ive seen the wild horses
Shifting sands and broken plans
Lead me on to my homeland
song performed by by Midnight Oil
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Autumnal
THE Autumn leaves are dying quietly,
Scarlet and orange, underfoot they lie;
They had their youth and prime
And now's the dying time;
Alas, alas, the young, the beloved, must die!
They are dying like the leaves of Autumn fast,
Scattered and broken, blown on every blast:
The darling young, the brave,
Love had no power to save.
Poor Love-lies-bleeding, Love's in ruins, downcast.
Alas, alas, the Autumn leaves are flying!
They had their Summer and 'tis time for dying.
But these had barely Spring.
Love trails a broken wing,
Walks through deserted woods, moaning and sighing.
poem by Katharine Tynan
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Four little giraffes
Four little giraffes
Stare at a broken hinge
A broken hinge in the door
They sat and pondered
How were they going to fix that hinge?
That broken hinge which was in the door
They were no bob the builder
But surely they could fix it just as well
They hammered and they wrenched
All day and all night long
And with hooves wiping sweat off from brows
And purple tongues slurping up some water by the gallon
Soon that broken hinge was no longer a broken hinge
Yes indeed
They surely weren’t bob the builder
But they sure were one thing
Great hooves for feet, purple tongued hard workers
poem by Storm Pedersen
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Song of The Western Countries
Oh the nighttime beating of the soul’s wings:
Herders of sheep once, we walked along the forests
that were growing dark,
And the red deer, the green flower and the speaking
river followed us
In humility. Oh the old old note of the cricket,
Blood blooming on the altarstone,
And the cry of the lonely bird over the green silence
of the pool.
And you Crusades, and glowing punishment
Of the flesh, purple fruits that fell to earth
In the garden at dusk, where young and holy men
walked,
Enlisted men of war now, waking up out of wounds
and dreams about stars.
Oh the soft cornflowers of the night.
And you long ages of tranquillity and golden
harvests,
When as peaceful monks we pressed out the purple
grapes;
And around us the hill and forest shone strangely.
The hunts for wild beasts, the castles, and at night,
the rest,
When man in his room sat thinking justice,
And in noiseless prayer fought for the living head
of God.
And this bitter hour of defeat,
When we behold a stony face in the black waters.
But radiating light, the lovers lift their silver eyelids:
They are one body. Incense streams from rosecolored pillows
And the sweet song of those risen from the dead
poem by Georg Trakl
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The Wild Geese
Wild geese fly overhead
In the wild Autumn weather.
Souls of the newly-dead
Crying and flying together.
Home from the last great fight,
The souls of the Irish farin'
With a wild heart in the night,
A grey eye turned to Erin.
High and high in the sky,
From the red fields of slaughter
Ever they fly and cry
For the brown bog, the grey water.
Wild geese in the wild even,
Steady and strong their flight,
Their beds are made in Heaven,
All of the down white.
They have forgone that bliss
Till they have seen once more
The little land of peace,
Green and bright as of yore.
High o'er the sheep and cattle,
The bogs and the mountains lone,
The souls new-home from the battle
Cry their love and are flown.
poem by Katharine Tynan
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Demise (Untergang)
["Fifth and last version:
To Karl Borromaeas Heinrich"]
Across the snowy pond
the wild birds have moved away.
From our stars blows an icy wind in the evening.
Over our graves
bows the broken forehead of night.
Under oak trees we sway in an argentine pram.
Forever resound the city's niveous walls.
Under thorny bows,
blind pointers we, oh my brother, are climbing to
midnight.
poem by Georg Trakl (1 March 1913), translated by Walter Aue
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Out Of The Depths
Lost! Lost! Lost!
The cry went up from a sea --
The waves were wild with an awful wrath,
Not a light shone down on the lone ship's path;
The clouds hung low:
Lost! Lost! Lost!
Rose wild from the hearts of the tempest-tossed.
Lost! Lost! Lost!
The cry floated over the waves --
Far over the pitiless waves;
It smote on the dark and it rended the clouds;
The billows below them were weaving white shrouds
Out of the foam of the surge,
And the wind-voices chanted a dirge:
Lost! Lost! Lost!
Wailed wilder the lips of the tempest-tossed.
Lost! Lost! Lost!
Not the sign of a hope was nigh,
In the sea, in the air, or the sky;
And the lifted faces were wan and white,
There was nothing without them but storm and night
And nothing within but fear.
But far to a Father's ear:
Lost! Lost! Lost!
Floated the wail of the tempest-tossed.
Lost! Lost! Lost!
Out of the depths of the sea --
Out of the night and the sea;
And the waves and the winds of the storm were hushed,
And the sky with the gleams of the stars was flushed.
Saved! Saved! Saved!
And a calm and a joyous cry
Floated up through the starry sky,
In the dark -- in the storm -- 'Our Father' is nigh.
poem by Abram Joseph Ryan
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The Purple Sage
Purple sage is a beautiful thing,
Flowering in violet,
In winter or spring.
The leaves vary from silver to green,
It grows wild in Texas,
Of the wild it's the king.
Flowers are white, purple, or pink,
But only the purple,
Makes you mind stop and think.
Songs and stories, have come down through time,
Of the purple sage,
In it's inhospitable climes.
If your'e ever in Texas, come check it out,
Cause the purple sage,
Is what Texas is about.
11/15/10 Alton Texas
poem by Juan Olivarez
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The Dead Feast of the Kol-Folk
We have opened the door,
Once, twice, thrice!
We have swept the floor,
We have boiled the rice.
Come hither, come hither!
Come from the far lands,
Come from the star lands,
Come as before!
We lived long together,
We loved one another;
Come back to our life.
Come father, come mother,
Come sister and brother,
Child, husband, and wife,
For you we are sighing.
Come take your old places,
Come look in our faces,
The dead on the dying,
Come home!
We have opened the door,
Once, twice, thrice!
We have kindled the coals,
And we boil the rice
For the feast of souls.
Come hither, come hither!
Think not we fear you,
Whose hearts are so near you.
Come tenderly thought on,
Come all unforgotten,
Come from the shadow-lands,
From the dim meadow-lands
Where the pale grasses bend
Low to our sighing.
Come father, come mother,
Come sister and brother,
Come husband and friend,
The dead to the dying,
Come home!
We have opened the door
You entered so oft;
For the feast of souls
We have kindled the coals,
And we boil the rice soft.
Come you who are dearest
To us who are nearest,
Come hither, come hither,
From out the wild weather;
The storm clouds are flying,
The peepul is sighing;
Come in from the rain.
Come father, come mother,
Come sister and brother,
Come husband and lover,
Beneath our roof-cover.
Look on us again,
The dead on the dying,
Come home!
We have opened the door!
For the feast of souls
We have kindled the coals
We may kindle no more!
Snake, fever, and famine,
The curse of the Brahmin,
The sun and the dew,
They burn us, they bite us,
They waste us and smite us;
Our days are but few
In strange lands far yonder
To wonder and wander
We hasten to you.
List then to our sighing,
While yet we are here
Nor seeing nor hearing,
We wait without fearing,
To feel you draw near.
O dead, to the dying
Come home!
poem by John Greenleaf Whittier
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Nocturnal Lament
The night has risen over the rumpled forehead
With beautiful stars
By the hill, where you lay petrified by pain,
A wild animal in the garden rankled your heart.
A fiery angel,
You lie with broken breast on stony field,
Or in the forest a nocturnal bird's
Unending lament
Always repeating in thorny night branches.
poem by Georg Trakl
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Optimists, Pessimists and the lovers
Fatima and Leopold still they are lovers
From different planets,
And peruse the Hebrew Alphabet
Under the thorny love tree in a lonely desert
Where the Crescent Moon gossips with stars.
*To the traumatic souls keep vengeance in their hearts.
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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The Lark's Song
The morning is wild and dark,
The night mist runs on the vale,
Bright Lucifer dies to a spark,
And the wind whistles up for a gale.
And stormy the day may be
That breaks through its prison bars,
But it brings no regret to me,
For I sing at the door of the stars!
Along the dim ocean-verge
I see the ships labouring on;
They rise on the lifting surge
One moment, and they are gone.
I see on the twilight plain
The flash of the flying cars;
Men travail in joy or pain -
But I sing at the door of the stars!
I see the green, sleeping world,
The pastures all glazed with rime;
The smoke from the chimney curled;
I hear the faint church bells chime.
I see the grey mountain crest,
The slopes, and the forest spars,
With the dying moon on their breast -
While I sing at the door of the stars!
poem by Anne Glenny Wilson
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Call Of The Wild
I know her, and every notion I get from her I wear inside me.
I know her, all of the broken leaves of love she leaves behind.
Oh - dont you hide away from the rain.
Oh - can you tell me the name of this game?
I got to get thru to you.
Behind the door, another wall, a lonely cry a call of the wild.
A dancing daze, an empty face, a crystal high a call of the wild.
And there is something that sweeps the dark, a lovers dart,
The call of a broken heart.
Wrapped in the night, behind these eyes, oh hear the cry,
A call of the wild.
I know her and in my mind I dream of her, how she aches without me.
I know her and every heart is a lonely hunter when she walks by.
Oh - can you read the hurt in my eyes?
Oh - dont you leave without saying goodbye.
I got to get thru to you.
Behind the door, another wall...
song performed by by Roxette
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Mystic Child
It was only the time of the newly born dead
With wispy cobwebs in your head
The polar moon looked out instead
Goin wild
Liquor shifting through the brain
The manic depressive goes insane
Goin wild
Goin wild
Desperate anger hits the streets
By the foul smelling river by the meat market
Goin wild
Mystic child
Goin wild
Mystic child
In the winter with frozen toes
Looking out the big windows
To fly
Goin wild
Situation x out of control
My eyes half opened like a mole
Who smiles
Goin wild
Who smiles
Goin wild
In the mystic morning where the river meets
The hurdy-gurdy of the hip-hop beat
5 a.m. the viscous street
Oh, wild
Goin wild
Out the window like a flash
Fallin through a rooftop crash
Blind
Goin wild
Sick and misty like a pup by the curb
Hes throwin up
Wild
Like a child
Goin wild
Like a child
If he cant have all that relates
To testify that he is great
Hell cut someone with a broken plate
Stand upon the subway grate
And smile
Goin wild
Goin wild
With a smile
Holy morning
Sun is up and someone
Here has lost his cups
The dawn is tattered all cut up
Goin wild
Like a mystic child
Like a mystic child
Sunday morning looking down from the rooftop
Goin wild with a smile
Mystic child
Top of the world hes got it made
Rings are gold, braids are jade
Jumped to the street, hes got it made
Goodbye, child
Goodbye, child
Mystic child
Goin wild
Like a mystic child
Goodbye
Goodbye
Goin wild, ah
Goin wild
Like a mystic child
Holy morning
Sun is up and someone
Going wild
Like a mystic, like a mystic, like a mystic -
- child
Goin-goin, goin-goin wild
Like a mystic child
Oh-oh-oh, oh-oh
Oh-oh-oh, oh
Jumped to the street
song performed by by Lou Reed
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Grodek
At evening the autumn woodlands ring
With deadly weapons. Over the golden plains
And lakes of blue, the sun
More darkly rolls. The night surrounds
Warriors dying and the wild lament
Of their fragmented mouths.
Yet silently there gather in the willow combe
Red clouds inhabited by an angry god,
Shed blood, and the chill of the moon.
All roads lead to black decay.
Under golden branching of the night and stars
A sister's shadow sways through the still grove
To greet the heroes' spirits, the bloodied heads.
And softly in the reeds Autumn's dark flutes resound.
O prouder mourning! - You brazen altars,
The spirit's hot flame is fed now by a tremendous pain:
The grandsons, unborn.
poem by Georg Trakl
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Quiver Tree
I found loneliness
in winter's aloe sun
reaching and listening
to the beat of the bark
with arms like brittle
arrows and purple
beams of light
like never before
behind a quiver tree
like voices
blowing free
through this lonely
tree's bursting bark
and blowing over some
of the many roads
of my brown mind
it will not show
its wounds to me
while crated minds
lie in wait to see
if purple arms
with broken palms
could be touching
heaven's heart
like seldom in a tree
or a man was found
lonely to the front
For Here We Have No Continuing City
For here we have no continuing city-
Here the falcons and the herons
Clash overhead, and the dead fall to ground
Like so many feckless soldiers.
For here we have no continuing city-
Wolves and foxes bear young in the caves
And they track the moon till dawn
Like the last worshipers of a lunar deity.
For here we have no continuing city-
When you reach out to touch my hand
Wild goats stumble high up in the cliffs
And the rabbit escapes the trap narrowly.
poem by by unknown author
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Sweet Wild April
O sweet wild April
Came over the hills,
He skipped with the winds
And he tripped with the rills;
His raiment was all
Of the daffodils.
Sing hi,
Sing hey,
Sing ho!
O sweet wild April
Came down the lea,
Dancing along
With his sisters three:
Carnation, and Rose,
And tall Lily.
Sing hi,
Sing hey,
Sing ho!
O sweet wild April,
On pastoral quill
Came piping in moonlight
By hollow and hill,
In starlight at midnight,
By dingle and rill.
Sing hi,
Sing hey,
Sing ho!
Where sweet wild April
His melody played,
Trooped cowslip, and primrose,
And iris, the maid,
And silver narcissus,
A star in the shade.
Sing hi,
Sing hey,
Sing ho!
When sweet wild April
Dipped down the dale,
Pale cuckoopint brightened,
And windflower trail,
And white-thorn, the wood-bride,
In virginal veil.
Sing hi,
Sing hey,
Sing ho!
When sweet wild April
Through deep woods pressed,
Sang cuckoo above him,
And lark on his crest,
And Philomel fluttered
Close under his breast.
Sing hi,
Sing hey,
Sing ho!
O sweet wild April,
Wherever you went
The bondage of winter
Was broken and rent,
Sank elfin ice-city
And frost-goblin's tent.
Sing hi,
Sing hey,
Sing ho!
Yet sweet wild April,
The blithe, the brave,
Fell asleep in the fields
By a windless wave
And Jack-in-the-Pulpit
Preached over his grave.
Sing hi,
Sing hey,
Sing ho!
O sweet wild April,
Farewell to thee!
And a deep sweet sleep
To thy sisters three, -
Carnation, and Rose,
And tall Lily.
Sing hi,
Sing hey,
Sing ho!
poem by William Force Stead
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