Kuno's Nocturne

Every day, when it gets so very dark
That I can read no more,
I walk along the street singing,
Look at every girl...
Whether perhaps - who knows -
Today of all days a miracle will take place:
That I shall come home redeemed,
Peaceful and forever free...
From such pursuits I come back
To the house tired and confused,
I know a secret remedy
That can extinguish all suffering -

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

The Son

Alfred Lichtenstein, Simple Poetry

Sunday Afternoon

Alfred Lichtenstein, Simple Poetry

Landscape

Alfred Lichtenstein, Simple Poetry

Summer Freshness

Alfred Lichtenstein, Simple Poetry

English

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Summer Evening

All things are seamless,
As though forgotten, light and dull.
From the sacred heights the green sky spills
Still water on the city.
Glazed cobblers' lamps shine.
Empty bakeries are waiting.
People in the street, astonished, stride
Towards a miracle.
A copper red goblin runs
Up towards the roof, up and down.
Little girls fall, sobbing
From the poles of street lights.

Alfred Lichtenstein

Going for a Walk

Evening comes with moonshine and silky darkness.
The roads become weary.    The narrow world widens.
Winds of opium move in and out of the field.
I widen my eyes like silver wings.
I feel as though my body were the whole earth.
The city lights up: thousands of street lamps sway.
Now the sky also piously enkindles its candlelight.
...    Huge above everything my human face wanders -

Alfred Lichtenstein

The Night

Sleepy policemen waddle under streetlights.
Broken beggars grumble when they sense people.
On some corners powerful streetcars stutter.
And plush cabs drop into the stars.
Among rough houses whores hobble back and forth,
Sadly swinging their ripe behinds.
Much sky lies broken in these dried-out things...
Whiny cats painfully shriek bright songs.

Alfred Lichtenstein

Song of Kuno Kohn's Longing

The folds of the sea crash like whips on my skin.
And the stars of the sea tear me apart.
The evening of the sea is one of screaming wounds for the lonely,
But lovers find the good death of their day dreams...
Be there soon, you with pain in your eye, the sea hurts.
Be there soon, you who suffer in love, the sea is killing me.
Your hands are cool saints.    Cover me with them,
The sea is burning on me.
But why don't you help me!    But help!...    Cover me.    Save me.
Cure me, friend and woman.
Mother... you -

Alfred Lichtenstein

Wanderer in the Evening

Kuno Kohn sings:
Dusty Sunday
Lies burned to pieces.
Charred coolness
Mothers the land.
Dissolute longing
Gapes once again.
Dreams and tears
Stream upward.

Alfred Lichtenstein

Touched

I gladly left
The noisy death of the city,
With its thousands of leering faces,
The yellow night of the alleys.
I stride into the broad,
Silver sky;
The pious limbs glide
Deep into gently being.
I am in the white brightness
Of cloud, meadow, wind.
Am tree, am town, am child...
How wet are my eyes!
Soon the green evening will stand
At its silver end...
I raise blessed hands -
I want to go to meet it -

Alfred Lichtenstein