1 min read
Слушать(AI)When You Lie
When you liein the Bed of lost Flag-Cloth,with blue-black Syllables, in Snow-Eyelash-Shadow,the Crane through Thought-showers,comes gliding, steely-you open for him.
His beak ticks the Hour for youat every Mouth – at everybell-stroke, with red-hot Rope, a Silent-Millennium,
Un-Pulse and Pulsemint each other to death,the Dollars, the Cents,rain hard through your
Second-Shapesyou fly there and barthe Doors Yesterday and Tomorrow – phosphorescent,
Forever-Teeth,buds the one, and buds theother breast,towards the Grasping, underthe Thrusts –: so thick,so deeplystrewnthe
Crane-Seed.
Paul Celan
Paul Celan (/ˈsɛlæn/;[1] German: [ˈtseːlaːn]; 23 November 1920 – c. 20 April 1970) was a Romanian-born German-language poet and translator. He w
Comments
You need to be signed in to write comments
Other author posts
The Straitening
*Driven into theterrainwith the unmistakable track:grass, written asunder The stones, white,with the shadows of grassblades: Do not read any more - look Do not look any more - go
Little Night
Little Night: when youtake me within, within,up there,three Pain-Inches abovethe Floor: all the Shroud-Coats of Sand,all the Help-Nots,all, that stilllaughswith the Tongue -
I Hear
I hear, the Axe has flowered, I hear, the Place is un-nameable, I hear, the Bread, that looks on him,heals the Hanged-Man,the Bread, his Wife baked for him, I hear, they name Lifeour sole Refuge
You Were My Death
You were my death:you I could holdwhen all fell away from me
