Falling in the River

Drunk, Lene Levi walked
In the neighboring streets nightly
Back and forth, screaming, "auto."
Her blouse was opened,
So that one saw her fine, fascinating
Underclothing and skin.
Seven horny little men ran
After Lene.

Seven horny little men chased
Lene Levi for her body,
Thinking about what it costs.
Seven men, otherwise very respectable,
Forgot their children and art,
Science and factory.
And they ran as though possessed
After Lene Levi.
Lene Levi stopped
On a bridge, catching her breath,
And she lifted her blurred blue
Drunken glances in the wide
Sweet darkness above
The street lamps and the houses.
Seven randy little men though
Caught Lene's eye.

Seven randy little men tried
To touch Lene Levi's heart.
Lene remained unapproachable.
Suddenly she jumped up on the railing,
Turns up her nose at the world for the last time,
Joyfully jumps into the river.
Seven pale little men ran,
As quickly as they could, out of the place.

Alfred Lichtenstein

Alfred Lichtenstein was a German poet and writer known for his expressionist works. Born on August 23, 1889, in Berlin, he studied law at the University of Berlin. His works often reflect the grim realities of early 20th-century Europe and the senseless horrors of World War I. He volunteered for military service at the outbreak of WWI and was subsequently killed in action on September 25, 1914. Lichtenstein's legacy lives on through his poignant and often haunting poetry.

Alfred Lichtenstein

Peace

Alfred Lichtenstein, Simple Poetry

After Combat

Alfred Lichtenstein, Simple Poetry

Songs to Berlin

Alfred Lichtenstein, Simple Poetry

Lonely Watchman

Alfred Lichtenstein, Simple Poetry

English

Suggested Poems

Explore a curated selection of verses that share themes, styles, and emotional resonance with the poem you've just read.

Smoke on the Field

Lene Levi went out in the evening,
Mincing, her skirt bunched up,
Through the long, empty streets
Of a suburb.

And she spoke weeping, aching, crazy,
Strange words,
Which the wind tossed, so that they popped,
Like pods.

They made bloody scratches on trees,
And, shredded, hung on houses
And in these deaf streets
died all alone.

Lene Levi went out, until all
The roofs made their crooked mouths grimace,
And the windows and the shadows
Made faces

They had a completely drunken good time -
Until the houses became helpless
And the mute city passed
Into the broad fields,
Which the moon smeared...

Little Lene took out of her pocket
A box of cigarettes,
Weeping took one
Out and smoked.

Alfred Lichtenstein

Rainy Night

The day is ruined.    The sky is drunk.
Like false pearls, little stumps
Of chopped up light lie around and reveal
A glimpse of streets, a few clumps of houses.
Everything else is rotten and devoured
By a black fog, which, like a wall,
Falls down and is rotten.    And the rain
Crumbles like rubble in the grip - thick - gray -
As though the whole contaminated darkness
Wanted at every moment to sink.
Down in a swamp you see an auto flash,
Like a strange, drunken plant.
The oldest whores come crawling
Along out of wet shadows - tubercular toads.
There goes one creeping by.    Over there a pig is being stabbed.
The gushing rain wants to wipe out everything.
But you are wandering through the waste lands.
Your dress hangs heavy.    Your shoes are soaked.
Y...

Alfred Lichtenstein

Cloudy Evening

The sky is swollen with tears and melancholy.
Only far off, where its foul vapors burst,
Green glow pours down.    The houses,
Gray grimaces, are fiendishly bloated with mist.

Yellowish lights are beginning to gleam.
A stout father with wife and children dozes.
Painted women are practicing their dances.
Grotesque mimes strut towards the theater.

Jokers shriek, foul connoisseurs of men:
The day is dead... and a name remains!
Powerful men gleam in girls' eyes.
A woman yearns for her beloved woman.

Alfred Lichtenstein

The World

(Dedicated to a clown)

Many days tread upon human animals,
In gentle oceans hunger-sharks fly.
Heads, beers glisten in coffee-houses.
Girls' screams shred on a man.
Thunderstorms come crashing down.    Forest winds darken.
Women knead prayers in skinny hands:
May the Lord God send an angel.
A shred of moonlight shimmers in the sewers.
Readers of books crouch quietly on their bodies.
An evening dips the world in lilac lye.
The trunk of a body floats in a windshield.
From deep in the brain its eyes sink.

Alfred Lichtenstein

The Suicide

White, I lie
On the remains of an amusement park
Between jagged buildings -
Burning flower... shining sea...
Toes and hands
Reach out into emptiness.
Longing tears the weeping body to pieces.
The little moon glides above me.
Eyes grope
Gently into the deep world,
Sunken hats
Wandering stars.

Alfred Lichtenstein

A Trouble-making Girl

It's certainly late.    I must earn something.
But they're all going right by today with smug expressions on their faces.
They don't want to give me a single good-luck penny.
It's a miserable life.
If I come home without money
The old lady will throw me out.
There is hardly anyone on the street any more.
I am dead tired and freezing.
I was never so miserable in my life.
I move around here like a piece of meat.
Finally someone comes over:
An extremely well-dressed man -
But in this life one can't tell much
By appearances.
He's also quite older. (they have more money,
Young ones tend to cheat you.)
We are face-to-face.
I raise my clothes above the knee.
I can get away with that.
That's the big draw..
Like flies to the light
The guys are ...

Alfred Lichtenstein