The stone.
The stone in the air, which I followed.
Your eye, as blind as the stone.
We were
hands,
we baled the darkness empty, we found
the word that ascended summer:
flower.
Flower - a blind man's word.
Your eye and mine:
they see
to water.
Growth.
Heart wall upon heart wall
adds petals to it.
One more word like this word, and the hammers
will swing over open ground.
As blind as the stone! Thanks for sharing this poem with us.
I notice change of words in the poem as commented by the good poet Fabrizio Frosini....
A deeply philosophical expression of a bruised heart trying to find solace in words which are akin to the petals of a lovely flower. Thanks. We were.... hands, we baled the darkness empty, we found the word that ascended summer: flower.
we baled the darkness empty, we found the word that ascended summer: flower. Nice poem to read. Thanks for sharing it. 10
- - -Growth. Heart wall upon heart wall adds petals to it.- - - Flower, a well-written philosophical poem. Congratulations for being chosen poem of the day. Thanks for sharing.
A great philosophical poem painted nicely. Thanks and congratulation to his soul.
This is certainly not an easy piece of writing to digest. But then that's typical of Celan. His experiences in life in some sense ruined or corrupted his trust in the mimetic function of literature and it's aesthetic role in life. From the title to the first line we are presented with a stark physical dichotomy, just dropped straight out of the blue with no explanation. What is the relation? What are we to infer? The relation is somehow foreign to the natural aspect we would usually assume. The stone is not inert on the ground, but acted upon so as to be in the air. A projectile bridging space? As sight should? Blindness. When the world is invisible we must shift to the sense of touch and use our hands. And hearing? The word must a sound. Something which flows with vibrations through the air? A flow-er? That may again lead to perception, a fluidity, a bridging of space from source to repository, like a river flowing downstream. Like water, so necessary for life. And communication, that tool to allow lives to come together. Love together. Work together. One word is a beginning, but a beginning only, and difficult to achieve.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Flower The stone. The stone in the air that I followed. Your eye as blind as the stone. We were hands, we scooped out the darkness, we found the word which came up along the summer: flower. Flower – a word for the blind. Your eye and my eye: they supply water. Growth. Heartwell by heart wall puts forth new leaves. One word more, like this, and the hammers swing in the open. © 1995, Vivian Smith From: New Selected Poems Publisher: Angus & Robertson, Sydney,1995 ISBN: 0 207 186316