Paul Celan

Paul Celan

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Paul Celan (/ˈsɛlæn/;[1] German: [ˈtseːlaːn]; 23 November 1920 – c. 20 April 1970) was a Romanian-born German-language poet and translator. He was born as Paul Antschel to a Jewish family in Cernăuți (German: Czernowitz), in the then Kingdom of Romania (now Chernivtsi, Ukraine), and adopted the pseudonym "Paul Celan".
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Schibboleth

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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 i...
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Mandorla

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In the Almond – what dwells in the Almond
Nothing
Nothing dwells in the Almond
There it dwells and dwells
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Stuttered-Over-Again World

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

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With the voice of the
You squeak up, a
Clamp,you bite through my Shirt into the Skin, a Cloth,you slither over my Mouth,in the midst of my,to you,
Shadow, burdensome,
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Alchemical

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Silence, like Gold cooked
Hands
Vast, grey,near as all that is
Sisterly-Shape:
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You Were My Death

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You were my death:you I could holdwhen all fell away from me
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To Stand In The Shadow

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To stand in the Shadowof the Wound’s-Mark in the Air
For no-one and nothing to Stand
Unknown,for youalone
With all, that within finds Room,even
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The Trumpet-Part

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

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Illegibility of
World
All twice-over
Robust Clocksagree the Cracked-Hour,hoarsely
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Tenebrae

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We are near,
Lord,near and at hand
Handled already,
Lord,clawed and clawing as thoughthe body of each of us wereyour body,
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Psalm

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

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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
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Halme Der Nacht

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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
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Twelve Years

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The linethat remained, thatbecame true:


yourhouse in Paris — becomethe alterpiece of your hands
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I Hear

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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
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Ice Eden

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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,
Earths they are, and bright
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