Who is Georg Trakl

Georg Trakl (3 February 1887 – 3 November 1914) was an Austrian poet and the brother of the pianist Grete Trakl. He is considered one of the most important Austrian Expressionists. He is perhaps best known for his poem "Grodek", which he wrote shortly before he died of a cocaine overdose.

Life and work

Trakl was born and lived the first 21 years of his life in Salzburg. His father, Tobias Trakl (11 June 1837, Ödenburg/Sopron – 1910), was a dealer of hardware from Hungary, while his mother, Maria Catharina Halik (17 May 1852, Wiener Neustadt – 1925), was a housewife of partly Czech descent; she was a drug addict and left the education to a French "gouvernante", who brought Trakl into contact with French language and literature at an early age. His sister Gret...
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Georg Trakl Poems

  • To Angela
    1


    ...
  • The Deep Song
    From deep night I was released.

    My soul is astonished in immortality,
    ...
  • Evening Walk
    I go into the evening,
    The wind jogs along and sings:
    You are bewitched by every light,
    O feel, what struggles with you! ...
  • To Johnanna
    Often I hear your steps

    Ring through the alley.
    ...
  • Night Song
    Over nocturnal dark floods
    I sing my sad songs,
    Songs which bleed like wounds.
    However, no heart carries them to me again ...
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Top 10 most used topics by Georg Trakl

Night 61 Dark 53 Blue 46 Evening 44 Black 41 Golden 36 Red 33 Heart 32 Wind 30 Away 29


Georg Trakl Quotes

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Comments about Georg Trakl

Folterlings: "o, the black angel who quietly stepped from the core of the tree," —georg trakl, poems and prose: sevenfold song of death; from 'to one who died young', tr. alexander stillmark
Yazmin94ol: surrender to night: the collected poems of georg trakl (pushkin collection) otcksci
Grady61btf: at the burning abyss: experiencing the georg trakl poem (the seagull library of german literature) bmtoazn
Jamesleejobe: the taste of iron and the fear of death. vision of the night: toads plunge from silver waters. -georg trakl can you hear croaking amid the whispers of midnight? it’s the splashing against the wings of finer things, those beings and creatures...
Wired73813850: self-portrait by georg trakl, my favourite poet
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Poem of the day

Robert Service Poem
The Three Bares
 by Robert Service

Ma tried to wash her garden slacks but couldn't get 'em clean
And so she thought she'd soak 'em in a bucket o' benzine.
It worked all right. She wrung 'em out then wondered what she'd do
With all that bucket load of high explosive residue.
She knew that it was dangerous to scatter it around,
For Grandpa liked to throw his lighted matches on the ground.
Somehow she didn't dare to pour it down the kitchen sink,
And what the heck to do with it, poor Ma jest couldn't think.
...

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