Summer Freshness

The sky is like a blue jellyfish.
And all around are fields, rolling meadows -
Peaceful world, you great mousetrap,
Would that I might finally escape from you..    O if I had wings -
One plays dice.    Guzzles.    Chatters about future countries.
Each person puts in his own two cents.
The earth is a succulent Sunday roast,
Nicely dunked into a sweet sun-sauce.
If only there were a wind... that ripped
The gentle world with iron claws.    That would amuse me.
But if a storm comes...    It would shred
The lovely blue eternal sky into a thousand pieces.

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

Rubbers

Alfred Lichtenstein, Simple Poetry

The Operation

Alfred Lichtenstein, Simple Poetry

Signs

Alfred Lichtenstein, Simple Poetry

Spring

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

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

Afternoon, Fields and Factory

I can no longer find a place for my eyes.
I cannot hold my legs together.
My heart is hollow.    My head is going to burst.
Mushiness all around.    Nothing wants to take shape.
My tongue breaks.    And my mouth twists.
In my skull there is neither pleasure nor goal.
The sun, a buttercup, rocks itself
On a chimney, its slender stalk.

Alfred Lichtenstein

Cloud

A fog has destroyed the world so gently.
Bloodless trees dissolve in smoke.
And shadows hover where shrieks are heard.
Burning beasts evaporate like breath.

Captured flies are the gas lanterns.
And each flickers, still attempting to escape.
But to one side, high in the distance, the poisonous moon,
The fat fog-spider, lies in wait, smoldering.

We, however, loathsome, suited for death,
Trample along, crunching this desert splendor.
And silently stab the white eyes of misery
Like spears into the swollen night.

Alfred Lichtenstein

Into the Evening

Out of crooked clouds priceless things grow.
Very tiny things suddenly become important.
The sky is green and opaque
Down there where the blind hills glide.
Tattered trees stagger into the distance.
Drunken meadows spin in a circle,
And all the surfaces become gray and wise...
Only villages crouch glowingly: red stars -

Alfred Lichtenstein

Peace

In weary circles a sick fish hovers
In a pond surrounded by grass.
A tree leans against the sky - burned and bent.
Yes... the family sits at a large table,
Where they peck with their forks from the plates.
Gradually they become sleepy, heavy and silent.
The sun licks the ground with its hot, poisonous,
Voracious mouth, like a dog - a filthy enemy.
Bums suddenly collapse without a trace.
A coachman looks with concern at a nag
Which, torn open, cries in the gutter.
Three children stand around in silence.

Alfred Lichtenstein