AlbrechDurer-13 commemorative rooms Georg Trakl (February 3, 1887, Salzburg to November 3, 1914, Kraków) not a word in English, yet I understand yellowing paper holds up faded words small books plain in design black and white photographs light from windows muted (a storm is building, and later its mountain violence breaks and drenches my T-shirt: Salzburg, it says) from in here I can almost see the school he attended, still severe and grand and yet submitting in this city of churches, it is functional first and only with time dignified and perhaps saddened that many were dead in the short film a man’s voice intones his poems so tenderly I am reminded that language this harsh can be loving – because back home we’d read translations but never softly: scenes of the Eastern Front required at least a twisting of the jaw so out would come how he himself may have sounded gurgling on his deathbed from an overdose of cocaine, unclear whether suicide or error – but forever clear his small self-portrait: a painted darkness of reddish hair, green face makes a mask so unlike the blond young man in striped trousers seen sitting, eager not for war but for his life – and I see how summer light comes in and tries its best to tell me not to believe this possessed glow here on the wall set to trigger my dismay but instead to step back into the street, where he’d walked, shadows from clouds falling on him as they fall on me with sudden heat and thunder – and did he hear in that rumble guns that ended more than an empire swept away with his twenty-seven years?
What do You think about Albrecht Dürer And Me (2014)?
