Wednesday, July 25, 2018

Trakl the Compassionate Prophet: A Kinder, Gentler Apocalypse

Like several other artists during the years immediately prior to World War One, the Austrian poet Georg Trakl was haunted by insights that his society was headed for a self-destructive event, and that in this society there was a moral emptiness and a moral superficiality.

Trakl was a prophet.

In Western Civilization, the prophetic tradition, going back 3,000 to 4,000 years, can be characterized by three concepts. The prophet is social critic, a spokesman for God, and seer who has visions of the future.

Within the literary prophetic paradigm, there are subtypes: on the one hand, the condemnatory prophet who utters wrath and judgment; on the other hand, the compassionate prophet who sees the impending doom and empathizes with the soon-to-be victims.

One locus classicus for the compassionate prophet is the event during which Jesus wept about the future of the city of Jerusalem. He expresses a deep personal sadness for the residents of the city, even while explaining the terror which the Romans will inflict on it (cf. Luke 19, Matthew 23).

According to scholar Erasmo Leiva-Merikakis, Trakl falls into the pattern of the compassionate prophet:

The relationship of prophet to decadence is less that of one who condemns than of one who transfigures. In this respect, Trakl is as different from the other Expressionists in their vitriolic anger as Dostoievski, the underground man, was from Tolstoy, the rationalist utopian. Although seeing decay and corruption everywhere, Trakl never makes himself a force for their destruction, but for their atonement. Rather than separate himself as justified saint over against the bleak reality of his era, Trakl identifies himself so fully with it, rather in the manner of Hosea, the prophet who fornicates with a prostitute, that at times he appears himself to be a demonic visionary.

To support this hypothesis, Leiva-Merikakis cites lines from Trakl’s poem das Grauen. Clearly, Trakl presents a vision of coming destruction:

Ich sah mich durch verlass’ne Zimmer gehen.

As the poem continues, Trakl’s empathy moves him from merely reporting what he observes. His compassion moves him to an identification with the future destruction:

Doch plötzlich: Stille! Dumpfe Fieberglut
Läßt giftige Blumen blühn aus meinem Munde

‘Poisonous flowers’ emerge from Trakl’s mouth, perhaps in a state of delirium. Trakl sees himself as burdened with unpleasant task of predicting a dark future. He takes no joy in his role as seer. He does not wish ill on those who will suffer in the coming disaster. Perhaps he even feels some guilt about it.

But if Trakl identifies with the destruction, he does so only in part, because he also identifies with the destroyed. He may pronounce judgment, but he includes himself among those being judged:

Aus eines Spiegels trügerischer Leere
Hebt langsam sich, und wie ins Ungefähre
Aus Graun und Finsternis ein Antlitz: Kain!

Sehr leise rauscht die samtene Portiere,
Durchs Fenster schaut der Mond gleichwie ins Leere,
Da bin mit meinem Mörder ich allein.

Comparing himself to the fratricidal Cain, Trakl sees himself to be both murderer and victim.

While Leiva-Merikakis correctly points to Das Grauen to support and explain his hypothesis about Trakl being a compassionate prophet, Trakl’s body of work abounds with other texts which also support and exemplify this view of the poet.

Trakl’s poem Abendland arrived at its final state by means of three or four early drafts. These drafts have survived. Both the future disaster, and Trakl’s compassion for its victims, are seen in the text. The suffering is clear:

Silbern weint ein Krankes
Am Abendweiher,
Auf schwarzem Kahn
Hinüberstarben Liebende.

And later:

O des Knaben Gestalt
Geformt aus kristallenen Tränen.

Toward the end of the final draft, Trakl exclaims:

Ihr sterbenden Völker!

These are representative of many other phrases which are found in all four or five drafts of the poem.

Likewise, Trakl’s compassion for those who will suffer in the coming disaster manifests itself. In one draft, he uses the first person to include himself:

Und wir haben im Schlaf geweint.

He describes the Schwermut and das dunkle Lied der Schmerzen without making them into a punishment or a condemnation. And he includes, perhaps, a hint about a coming atonement or redemption:

Auch freut die Stille der Kinder
Die Nähe der Engel
Auf kristallener Wiese.

Trakl’s poetry, famous for its dark and foreboding tone, is softened by his identification with those who suffer, and by his allusions to a future atonement. Indeed, according to Leiva-Merikakis, Trakl sees his own poetry as part of that atoning process.