Hans Carrosa (1878-1956) was a German poet. He worked as a military doctor during the First World War. During the Nazi rule, he stayed in Germany and claimed to live a "crypt life". His poems pursued a hazy mood and were considered a powerless revolt against the Nazis.
SpringHans Karossa (Germany).
The sun was again stationed in the square of the cathedral, and the children played by the ancient well. The pigeons on the steps shone like brass, and the clouds fluttered like a sponge that had absorbed enough light. This is spring.
In front of an open window in the Cathedral Square, a haggard girl sits in front of the town. She didn't look at the clouds, she didn't look at the beautiful pigeons,—— she had to sew dance clothes and make silk hats for the girls she didn't know, and often half the day and half the night, and her hands and feet were often frozen. Occasionally, when the fetus in the womb flicked slightly, the suffocating little soul seemed to touch the light, and her bitter lips appeared rosy. This is spring.
Translated by Zhang Houren.
On the way back to the countrysideHans Karossa (Germany).
Is dusk in my garden? The river is already singing, isn't it? Your kisses still burn my life, and your illuminated eyes still hold only your image, still only obsessed with your magic in the magic of the earth.
The moon was dreaming in the sky, and a pale cloud was fluttering, and the blue light soaked its edge.
Rolling down clods from the night water, each clod illuminated by the moonlight was a heavy load.
The strings of the harp whisper in the boulevard, and the ruts of the car shine in the snow, shining and holy to record the way to your home,—— I know that you are still growing up, and you are deep, deeply immersed in happiness.
The lampshade of the house lamp reflects your face as red as wine, you are smiling at the ice flowers on the window, and your dreamy eyes are looking down at the river,—— you are still the same life when I kissed you.
Translated by Zhang Houren.
OverlookHans Karossa (Germany).
Twilight. The beech hedges of the old garden are tall and dense like brown walls. Alone. The foggy wind blows out the fire that is kindled by the day.
People are like leaves, longing to leave the branches. Suddenly, the wall of beech trees cracked. When I looked into the wilderness, I saw not villages, not houses, not cattle from neighboring villages. I saw a field, full of colchicum daffodils, a rocky mountain in the background, as if in front of me, a full moon in the sky, and a golden light shining from the ice and jade,—— all this evokes a wish, and I bless you with this earthly view, oh dear, and all the trembling feelings.
Translated by Zhang Houren.
Water in the skyHans Karossa (Germany).
The pasture has a Hessian pond with only a small alder tree casting shade on the shore; I was in my childhood. It's a sweltering spring day, the grass is yellow, and the dragonflies bite the blades of grass, and I like to lie down and lean down to look at the bottom of the pond. The pond is as deep as the blue sky. The clouds floated through the water, gray and gray, carved like oak leaves, and the edges of one side glowed blue! The beautiful sun often gushes out from the bottom of the pond, not dazzling, and looks almost like a gentle moon.
It occurred to me that I had broken the water with green alder strips,-- and the large, white sun burst out in all directions, splashing countless bright silver spots and splashing all the way to the shore. My heart was pounding with fear; Those dots, countless bright silver points of light, swayed upward, the higher they went, the weaker the force, and finally changed into a big sun. 
Face the sea and look for the light with your black eyes. Founded on November 16, 2015, the Poetry Club takes "speaking for grassroots poets" as its mission and promoting the "spirit of poetry" as its purpose, that is, the pursuit of truth, goodness and beauty of poetry, the artistic innovation of poetry, the spiritual pleasure of poetry, and the revelation of poetry to living life.