Paul Celan

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

Paul Celan Poems

1. Vinegrowers 12/1/2015
2. With The Voice 11/23/2011
3. On My Right 11/23/2011
4. Whorish Other-When 11/23/2011
5. The Poles 11/23/2011
6. The Straitening 11/23/2011
7. The Trumpet-Part 11/23/2011
8. Stuttered-Over-Again World 11/23/2011
9. Illegibility 11/23/2011
10. There Was Earth 11/23/2011
11. Alchemical 11/23/2011
12. To Stand In The Shadow 11/23/2011
13. Tenebrae 11/23/2011
14. Tallow Lamp 11/23/2011
15. Only When 11/23/2011
16. Ice, Eden 11/23/2011
17. With Every Thought 11/23/2011
18. When You Lie 11/23/2011
19. Afternoon Of Circus And Citadel 11/23/2011
20. Flower 11/23/2011
21. Aspen Tree 11/23/2011
22. Little Night 11/23/2011
23. Mandorla 11/23/2011
24. Homecoming 11/23/2011
25. I Hear 11/23/2011
26. Count The Almonds 11/23/2011
27. I Can Still See You 11/23/2011
28. This Evening Also 1/13/2003
29. Twelve Years 1/13/2003
30. O Little Root Of A Dream 1/20/2003
31. Landscape 1/13/2003
32. In Front Of A Candle 1/25/2003
33. Night Ray 1/13/2003
34. Your Hand 1/25/2003
35. Crystal 1/13/2003
36. Corona 1/13/2003
37. Fugue Of Death 1/20/2003
38. Psalm 1/25/2003
39. Death Fugue 1/13/2003
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
grave
he commands us strike up for the dance

Black milk of daybreak we drink you at ...

Read the full of Death Fugue

Your Hand

Your hand full of hours, you came to me – and I said:
‘Your hair is not brown.’
You lifted it, lightly,
on to the balance of grief,
it was heavier than I.

They come to you on their ships, and make it their load,
then put it on sale in the markets of lust.
You smile at me from the deep.

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