by
Georg Trakl (1887 - 1914)
Frühling der Seele
See original
Language: German (Deutsch)
Our translations: ENG FRE ITA
Aufschrei im Schlaf; durch schwarze Gassen stürzt der Wind,
Das Blau des Frühlings winkt durch brechendes Geäst,
Purpurner Nachttau und es erlöschen rings die Sterne.
Grünlich dämmert der Fluß, silbern die alten Alleen
Und die Türme der Stadt. O sanfte Trunkenheit
Im gleitenden Kahn und die dunklen Rufe der Amsel
In kindlichen Gärten. Schon lichtet sich der rosige Flor.
Feierlich rauschen die Wasser. O die feuchten Schatten der Au,
Das schreitende Tier; Grünendes, Blütengezweig
Rührt die kristallene Stirne; schimmernder Schaukelkahn.
Leise tönt die Sonne im Rosengewölk am Hügel.
Groß ist die Stille des Tannenwalds, die ernsten Schatten am Fluß.
Reinheit! Reinheit! Wo sind die furchtbaren Pfade des Todes,
...
Note: the text above is taken from lines 1-13 of the original text.
Composition:
Set to music by Jan Stuten (1890 - 1948), "Frühling der Seele", published 1936?, lines 1-13 [ low voice and chamber orchestra or piano ], from Die vier Jahreszeiten, no. 8
Text Authorship:
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Available translations, adaptations or excerpts, and transliterations (if applicable):
- ENG English (Bertram Kottmann) , "Spring of the Soul ", copyright © 2016, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
- FRE French (Français) (Pierre Mathé) , "Printemps de l'âme", copyright © 2010, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
- ITA Italian (Italiano) (Ferdinando Albeggiani) , "Primavera dell'anima", copyright © 2007, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
Researcher for this page: Harry Joelson
This text was added to the website: 2007-07-29
Line count: 28
Word count: 237
Language: English  after the German (Deutsch)
Screaming in sleep; through black alleys the wind hurls,
the blue of spring beckons through breaking branches,
purple dew of night and all around the stars go out.
Greenishly the river’s dawning, silvern the old boulevards
and city towers. O mellow drunkenness
in the gliding boat and the dark calls of the blackbird
in childhood’s gardens. Already the rosy gauze is lifting.
Solemnly the waters murmur. O, the mead’s moist shadows,
the striding beast; lush greening, flowering branches
touch the crystal brow; shimmering, bobbing boat.
Quietly the sun sounds in the rosy clouds above the hill.
Grand is the fir wood’s stillness, the solemn shadows at the river.
Purity! Purity! Where are the terrible paths of death,
...
Note: the text above is taken from lines 1-13 of the original text.
Text Authorship:
Based on:
Go to the general single-text view
This text was added to the website: 2016-06-20
Line count: 28
Word count: 262