Paul Celan
Night Ray
Most brightly of all burned the hair of my evening loved one: To her I send the coffin of lightest wood. Waves billow round it as round the bed of our dream in Rome;
Crystal
not on my lips look for your mouth, Not in front of the gate for the stranger, Not in the eye for the tear. Seven nights higher red makes for red, Seven hearts deeper
Twelve Years
The line That remained, that Became true: . . . your House in Paris become The alterpiece of your hands. Breathed through thrice, Shone through thrice. ………………. It’s turning dumb, turning deaf Behind our
Corona
Autunm 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,
This Evening Also
more fully, Since snow fell even on this Sun-drifted, sun-drenched sea, Blossoms the ice in those baskets You carry into town. Sand You demand in return, For the last Rose back at home This
Cologne
In Kohln, a town of monks and bones, And pavements fang’d with murderous stones And rags, and hags, and hideous wenches; I counted two and seventy stenches, All well defined, and several stinks! Ye
Death Fugue
Black milk of daybreak we drink it at sundown We drink it at noon in the morning we drink it at night We drink it and drink it We dig a grave in the