I stumbled upon English-language translations of two German Expressionists on Professor Robert Levine's website. [2011 update: the page has disappeared but you can purchase the Lichtenstein in book form.]

1. Here's a bio of Alfred Lichtenstein (above; 1889–1914) from The Golden Bomb:

"A sad eccentric" and law graduate who became one of the first wave of Expressionist writers, he contributed to both Die Aktion and Der Sturm before falling in the Somme during the opening months of the First World War. His sarcastic, curiously waggish production is colorfully dotted with syphilitics and suicides, forever underlining the black humor of our very existence, and the existential link this has to one's self. To this end he performed a Jarry-like split into Alfred Lichtenstein and Kuno Kohn, his literary creation, with a laconic comic objectivity. His work was an important influence on the later Dadaists Hans Arp and Hugo Ball.

In the story "Cafe Kloesschen," Lichtenstein's hunch-backed alter-ego Kuno Kohn offered some advice to his beloved Lisel, who had been feeling helpless:

"The only consolation: to be sad. When sadness degenerates into despair, then one should become grotesque. One should live on for the sake of fun. One should try to rise above things, by realizing that existence consists of nothing but brutal, shabby jokes."

Obviously, after such pleasant advice, Lisle leaves forever. Kohn "receded into his hump." And soon:

Like a sickness, a slimy fog crept into the city, as it grew blind. Street lights were gloomy swamp flowers, which flickered on blackish, glowing stalks. Objects and creatures had only chilly shadows and blurred movements. Like a monster, a night bus reeled past Kohn. The poet called out: "Now one is again entirely alone." Then he encountered a fat, hunch-backed woman, with long spidery legs, wearing a ghostly, diaphanous skirt. Her upper body resembled a ball lying on a high little table. She looked at him temptingly and sympathetically, with an amorous smile, which the fog contorted into an insane expression. Kohn disappeared immediately in the greyness. She groaned and then trundeled on.

Fun stuff.

The Prose of Alfred Lichtenstein, translated by Sheldon Gilman, Robert Levine, and Harry Radford.

2. And here's a bio of Mynona [pseudonym for Salomo Friedlaender] (1871–1946), also from The Golden Bomb:

While the Friedlaender part of him was a tireless philosopher, propagating a mixture of Stirnerian ideas and neo-Kantianism (his numerous philosophical included Kant For Children), his Mynona half (being the reverse for the German word for "anonymous") wrote several novels and countless grotesques which were widely published in Expressionist periodicals. However, the two sides cannot be understood separately, for, as he wrote, "above all, the grotesque humorist has the desire to refresh the memory of the divine, mysterious primal image of true life...." Although friends with almost all of the Expressionists and a star attraction at their readings, this bohemian writer and "forerunner of the laughing Dada," as one Dadaist described him, was too "uncomfortable" for many: he died in poverty in Paris after being refused help to emigrate to the United States by Thomas Mann.

Levine offers a story called "The Abduction." [2011 update: link is no longer live] Mynona has very few stories in English. [2011: there's one in Jack Zipes' book The Operated Jew]

I wonder what the age range is!?: