Your Hand Poem by Paul Celan
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.
I weep at you from the scale that’s still light.
I weep: Your hair is not brown.
They offer salt-waves of the sea,
and you give them spume.
You whisper: ‘They’re filling the world with me now,
and for you I’m still a hollow way in the heart!
You say: ‘Lay the leaf-work of years by you, it’s time,
that you came here and kissed me.
The leaf-work of years is brown, your hair is not brown.
another translation 'Your Hand' Your Hand full of Hours, you came to me – and I said: ‘Your Hair is not brown.’ So you lifted it, lightly, onto the Balance of Grief, it was Heavier than I… They come to you on Ships, make it their load, then place it on sale in the Markets of Lust – You smile at me from the Depths, I weep at you from the Scale that’s still light. I weep: Your hair is not brown, they offer Salt-Waves of the Sea, and you give them spume. You whisper: ‘They’re filling the World with me now, and for you I’m still a Hollow-Way in the Heart! You say: ‘Lay the Leaf-Work of Years beside you, it’s Time that you came here and kissed me! The Leaf-Work of Years is brown: your Hair is not brown.
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4/24/2024 11:06:19 PM # 1.0.0.1119
...a poem like a magnet...you can't get away from it...