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
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
Don’t sign your name between worlds, surmount the manifold of meanings, trust the tearstain, learn to live. ― Paul Celan, “Don’t sign your name,” Glottal Stop. Translated by Heather McHugh & Nikolai Popov. (Wesleyan; 1st edition September 30, 2000)
How you die out in me: down to the last worn-out knot of breath you’re there, with a splinter of life. ― Paul Celan, Poems of Paul Celan. (Anvil Press Poetry November 9, 1995) Originally published 1972.
There will be something, later, that brims full with you and lifts up toward a mouth Out of a shardstrewn craze I stand up and look upon my hand, how it draws the one and only circle.” — Paul Celan, “Es wird etwas sein,” or “The One and Only Circle.” Trans. John Felstiner. American Poetry… Continue reading Paul Celan
There was earth inside them, and they dug. ― Paul Celan, “There Was Earth Inside Them,” The Atlantic: Culture. Nov 1, 2000. Originally written 1959.
And the too much of my speaking: heaped up round the little crystal dressed in the style of your silence. Paul Celan, from “Below,” Selected Poems. (Penguin Books, Limited [UK] 06/28/199)