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,
in dream there is room for sleeping,
our mouths speak the truth.
My eye moves down to the sex of my loved one:
we look at each other,
we exchange dark words,
we love each other like poppy and recollection,
we sleep like wine in the conches,
like the sea in the moon's blood ray.
We stand by the window embracing, and people look up from
it is time they knew!
It is time the stone made an effort to flower,
time unrest had a beating heart.
It is time it were time.
It is time.
Translated by Michael Hamburger
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Comments about this poem (Corona by Paul Celan )
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
Mewlana Jalaluddin Rumi
(1207 - 1273)
(31 March 1934 – 31 May 2009)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(2 June 1840 – 11 January 1928)
(31 October 1795 – 23 February 1821)
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