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Paul Celan

So many constellations that are held out to us. I was, when I looked at you — when? — outside by the other worlds. O these ways, galactic. O this hour, that weighed nights over for us into the burden of our names. It is, I know, not true that we lived, there moved, blindly,… Continue reading Paul Celan

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Classic · Collection · Contemporary · Excerpt · French Culture · French Literature · Passage · Poetry · Romanian Culture · Surrealism · Symbolism

Paul Celan

Go blind at once, today: eternity too is full of eyes— what helped the images overcome their coming drowns there; there the fire goes out of what spirited you away from language with a gesture you let happen like the waltz of two words made of pure fall, silk, and nothing. — Paul Celan, from… Continue reading Paul Celan

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Anthology · Classic · Collection · Contemporary · French Culture · French Literature · Poetry · Romanian Culture · Romanian Literature · Surrealism · Symbolism

Paul Celan

Unreadability of this world. All doubles. The strong clocks back the fissure-hour, hoarsely. You, wedged into your deepest, climb out of yourself for ever. — Paul Celan, “Unreadability,” Paul Celan: Selections. (University of California Press, March 14th 2005)

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Anthology · Classic · Collection · Contemporary · French Culture · French Literature · Poetry · Romanian Culture · Surrealism · Symbolism

Paul Celan

Your hair waves once more when I weep. With the blue of your eyes you lay the table of love: a bed between summer and autumn. We drink what somebody brewed neither I nor you nor a third; we lap up some empty and last thing. We watch ourselves in the deep sea’s mirrors and… Continue reading Paul Celan

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Anthology · Classic · Collection · Contemporary · French Culture · French Literature · Poetry · Romanian Culture · Surrealism · Symbolism

Paul Celan

Corona Autumn eats its leaf out of my hand: we are friends. From the nuts we shell time and we teach it to walk: then time returns to the shell. In the mirror it’s Sunday, in dream there is room for sleeping, our mouths speak the truth. My eye moves down to the sex of… Continue reading Paul Celan

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