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Dike at Night, Reflected Lights- Léon Spilliaert (1908)

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“…when the dreamer’s heart overflows with crimson sunset,”

— Georg Trakl, “Limbo” from To the Silenced (trans. Will Stone)

OCCIDENT I

The moon—a white corpse stepping forth from a blue cavern; and blossoms are showered in multitudes across the stone path. Something diseased weeps silver by the evening pond. On a black boat of Charon lovers float away, toward Death.

Or Elis’s footsteps that toll through the hyacinthine grove, echoing under oaks once more. O the boy’s phantom form, molded from tears of crystal, nocturnal shadows. Jagged lightning sears his temple, ever-cold; and on the greening hills spring’s thunder crashes. Hushed now are the dark forests of our homeland; the crystal wave dies against crumbling walls. And we have wept in our sleep, wandered with faltering steps along the thorn-spiked hedge in the gloomy twilight of summer, in the holy stillness of the distant vineyard’s flames. Now shadows crowd night’s cold womb—mourning eagles. So softly a moonbeam seals the purple stigmata of melancholy.

— Georg Trakl (1914)

via Twilight of Humanity

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Trakl was suffering through an era of disintegrating value systems and lives governed by anonymous powers; emotions that once had concrete reference points were transformed into abstract emotions lacking reference. When you can no longer make out whom to fear, the fear of specific things becomes fear as such; an aversion to this or that becomes loathing of everything; the sight of a concrete ruin turns to the dull sense of general decay, and sorrow over a distinct loss becomes a universal surge of lamentation. - It is the evening twilight or the late autumn that best expresses this indistinctness.

Franz Fühmann, At the Burning Abyss (1982)

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