Paul Celan

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

Twelve Years - Poem by Paul Celan

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 eyes.
I see the poison flower
in all manner of words and shapes.

Go. Come.
Love blots out its name: to
you it ascribes itself.


translated by Michael Hamburger


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Read poems about / on: paris, flower, house, love



Poem Submitted: Monday, January 13, 2003

Poem Edited: Wednesday, November 23, 2011


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