Paul Celan

She combs her hair, like the dead are combed,
She carries the blue fragments under her robe.
She bears the fragment-world on a single skein.
She knows the words, but she only beams.

The Trumpet-Partdeep in the
Text-Voidat Torch-Height,
in the Time-Hole: listen inwith your Mouth.

The linethat remained, thatbecame true: . . . yourhouse in Paris — becomethe alterpiece of your hands.
Breathed through thrice,
shone through thrice.……………….
It's turning dumb, turning deafbehind our eyes.

You were my death:
you I could holdwhen all fell away from me.

Stuttered-over-again World,
where I shall have beena Guest, a Name,
sweated down from the Wall,
that a Wound licks up.

We are near,
Lord,
near and at hand.
Handled already

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

No-man kneads us again out of Earth and Loam,
no-man spirits our Dust.
No-man.
Praise to you

Mitsamt meinen Steinen, den großgeweinten hinter den Gittern, schleiften sie mich in die Mitte des Marktes, dorthin, wo die Fahne sich aufrollt, der ich keinerlei Eid schwor.
Flöte,
Doppelflöte der Nacht: denke der dunklen Zwillingsröte…

To stand in the Shadowof the Wound’s-Mark in the Air.
For no-one and nothing to Stand.
Unknown,
for youalone.

In the Almond – what dwells in the Almond?
Nothing.
Nothing dwells in the Almond.
There it dwells and dwells.

Illegibility of
World.
All twice-over.
Robust Clocksagree the Cracked-Hour

Silence, like Gold cooked
Hands. Vast, grey,
near as all that is
Sisterly-Shape:

tall poplars — human beings of this earth!
black pounds of happiness — you mirror them to death!
I saw you, sister, stand in that effulgence.
Anonymous submission.

There is a Land that’s Lost,
Moon waxes in its Reeds,
and all that’s turned to frostwith us, burns there and sees.
It sees, for it has Eyes

With the voice of the
You squeak up, a
Clamp,
you bite through my Shirt into the Skin, a Cloth

I can still see you: an Echo,
to be touched with Feeler-Words, on the Parting-Ridge.
Your face softly shies away,
when all at once there islamp-like brightnessin me, at the Point

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.

Of chased Gold, asyou told me to,
Mother,
I shaped the Candlestick, out of whichshe darkens for me in the midst offracturing
Being-Dead’s Daughter.

Your Hand full of Hours, you came to me – and I said:‘Your Hair is not brown.’So you lifted it, lightly, onto the Balance of Grief, it
Heavier than I… They come to you on Ships, make it their load, then place it on sale in the Markets of…

The stone.
The stone in the air, which I followed.
Your eye, as blind as the stone.
We werehands

Mit wechselndem Schlüssel schließt du das Haus auf, darin der Schnee des Verschwiegenen treibt.
Je nach dem Blut, das dir quillt aus Aug oder Mund oder Ohr, wechselt dein Schlüssel.
Wechselt dein Schlüssel, wechselt das Wort, das…

Together with me recall: the sky of Paris, that giant autumn crocus...
We went shopping for hearts at the flower girl's booth:
they were blue and they opened up in the water.
It began to rain in our room

Only whenas a Shade I touch you,
will you believe
Mouth, that climbs with Late-Minded things up therearound
Time-Courts, you come to the Hostof the Twice-Using amongthe Angels