Paul Celan

(23 November 1920 - 20 April 1970 / (Cernăuţi, Bukovin) Chernivtsi, Ukraine)

Paul Celan
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(born Cernăuţi, Bukovina, Kingdom of Romania, current Chernivtsi, Ukraine - c. , Paris) was a poet and translator. He was born as Paul Antschel into a Jewish family in Romania, and changed his name to "Paul Celan" (where Celan in Romanian would be pronounced Chelan, and was derived from Ancel, pronounced Antshel), becoming one of the major German-language poets of the post-World War II era.


Early life

Celan was born in 1920 into a German-speaking Jewish family in Cernăuţi, Northern Bukovina, a region then part of Romania and earlier part of the Austro-Hungarian Empire, among others (now part of Ukraine). His father, Leo ... more »

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Comments about Paul Celan

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  • Gold Star - 68,780 Points Fabrizio Frosini (5/20/2015 9:42:00 AM)

    many critics have asked, “Can poetry be written after the Holocaust? ”

    Hamburger’s response seems to be that the more beautifully this poetry is written, the more it can provide the most discomforting account.

    in Goodrich, J., Rhyme or Reason? : Successfully Translating the Poetry of Paul Celan (2008)

  • Gold Star - 68,780 Points Fabrizio Frosini (5/19/2015 12:23:00 PM)

    ''poetry is probably the most useful form of writing for confronting grief.
    Indeed you can be very precise about emotions with poetic language, as well as being open and even harsh. The language of poetry can allude to things almost inexpressible in prose. Paul Celan's poetry is a beacon, from this point of view.''

  • Rookie Carmel Blackie (11/5/2013 5:33:00 PM)

    This poet inspired Edmund De Waal, author of the Hare with amber eyes! and a potter! to create an exhibition in New York in summer 2013. featured on Uk TV horizon, on 5nov 2013, BBC1. brilliant!

  • Rookie Arum Fatima (1/8/2010 11:06:00 PM)

    saya pernah mendengar puisi paul celan, , seperti mantra
    saya mendengarnya dari cd, , ya, , saya suka

Read all 4 comments »
Best Poem of Paul Celan

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 breezes there one lies unconfined
A man lives in the house he plays with the serpents
he writes
he writes when dusk falls to Germany your golden
hair Margarete
he writes it and steps out of doors and the stars are
flashing he whistles his pack out
he whistles his Jews out in earth has them dig for a
he commands us strike up for the dance

Black milk of daybreak we drink you at ...

Read the full of Death Fugue
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