Sunday, 9 February 2014

Aug und seiner Mandel

1 comment:

  1. Count the almonds,
    count what was bitter and kept you awake
    count me in:

    I looked for your eye when you opened it, no one was looking at you,
    I spun that secret thread
    on which the dew you were thinking
    slid down to the jugs
    guarded by words that to no one’s heart found their way.

    Only there did you wholly enter the name that is yours,
    sure-footed stepped into yourself,
    freely the hammers swung in the bell frame of your silence,
    the listened for reached you,
    what is dead put its arm about you also
    and the three of you walked through the evening.

    Make me bitter.
    Count me among the almonds.

    – Paul Celan

    trans. Michael Hamburger