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The Poetry: 'I want to bury myself in the night''
The Poetry: 'I want to bury myself in the night''
The Poetry: 'I want to bury myself in the night''
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The Poetry: 'I want to bury myself in the night''

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Alfred Lichtenstein was born on the 23rd August 1889, in Berlin-Wilmersdorf, the son of a Jewish manufacturer. He grew up in Berlin before studying law at Erlangen in Bavaria.

A writer in the Expressionist style his poems and short stories are short but beautifully honed works. His tragically short life allowed only a small part of his talents to rest with us. Undoubtedly a full life would have given the world a very gifted literary force.

Alfred Lichenstein volunteered for duty in the German Army for World War I. He died on the front at the Somme in the early months of the war on 25th September 1914. He was 25.

LanguageEnglish
Release dateJun 15, 2024
ISBN9781835475379
The Poetry: 'I want to bury myself in the night''

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    Book preview

    The Poetry - Alfred Lichtenstein

    The Poetry of Alfred Lichtenstein

    Alfred Lichtenstein was born on the 23rd August 1889, in Berlin-Wilmersdorf, the son of a Jewish manufacturer.  He grew up in Berlin before studying law at Erlangen in Bavaria. 

    A writer in the Expressionist style his poems and short stories are short but beautifully honed works.  His tragically short life allowed only a small part of his talents to rest with us.  Undoubtedly a full life would have given the world a very gifted literary force.

    Alfred Lichenstein volunteered for duty in the German Army for World War I.  He died on the front at the Somme in the early months of the war on 25th September 1914.  He was 25.

    Index of Contents

    A Critique by Lichtenstein Himself

    The Athlete

    Rubbers

    The Patent-leather Shoe

    Smoke on the Field

    Dreaming

    The Sad Man

    Capriccio

    The Turk

    Hugo von Hofmannsthal's Barber

    Spring

    A Barkeeper's Coarse Complaint

    A Trouble-making Girl

    The Drunkard

    A Lieutenant General Sings

    Falling in the River

    A Poor Man Sings

    Twilight

    The Night

    The Cabaret in the Suburbs

    The Trip to the Mental Hospital

    Into the Evening

    Interior

    Morning

    Landscape

    The Concert

    Winter

    The Operation

    Cloudy Evening

    Sunday Afternoon

    The Excursion

    Summer Evening

    The Trip to the Mental Hospital (II)

    Peace

    Towards Morning

    Bad Weather

    The Sick

    Cloud

    The City

    The World

    Prophecy

    Winter Evening

    Girls

    After the Ball

    Landscape

    Moonscape

    Landscape in the Early Morning

    Return of the Village Boy

    Summer Freshness

    Afternoon, Fields and Factory

    Rainy Night

    Period

    Reflecting Upon a Human Lung in Alcohol

    In the Tuberculosis Sanitarium

    Signs

    The End

    My End

    Song of Kuno Kohn's Longing

    Invasion

    Pathos

    Love Song

    The Suicide

    Touched

    Prayer to People

    Wanderer in the Evening

    Evening

    Spring

    Kuno Kohn's Five Songs to Mary

    First Song:

    Next Song:

    Song of Praise

    Sad Song

    Last Song

    Kuno's Nocturne

    Going for a Walk

    Ash Wednesday

    The Son

    To Frida

    Lonely Watchman Soldiers' Songs

    Songs to Berlin

    Monday in the Courtyard of the Barracks

    Now of course

    Elegant Morning

    Farewell

    Romantic Journey

    Warrior's Longing

    Prayer before Battle

    The Grenade

    After Combat

    The Battle at Saarburg

    A Critique by Lichtenstein Himself

    I

    Because I believe that many do not understand the verse of

    Lichtenstein, do not correctly understand, do not clearly understand—

    II

    The first eighty poems are lyric. In the usual sense. They are not much different from poetry that praises gardens. The content is the distress of love, death, universal longing. The impulse to formulate them in the cynical vein (like cabaret songs) may, for example, might have arisen from the wish to feel superior. Most of the eighty poems are insignificant. They were not presented to the public. All except one (one of the last) That is:

      I want to bury myself in the night,

      Naked and shy.

      And to wrap darknesses

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