Quotes by Paul Celan

Paul Celan

A nothing we were, are, shall remain, flowering: the nothing–, the no one’s rose.

Flowering

Holocaust

Rose

A poem, as a manifestation of language and thus essentially dialogue, can be a message in a bottle, sent out in the –not always greatly hopeful-belief that somewhere and sometime it could wash up on land, on heartland perhaps. Poems in this sense too are under way: they are making toward something. Toward what? Toward something standing open, occupiable, perhaps toward an addressable Thou, toward an addressable reality.

Hopeful

Land

Reality

A poem, being an instance of language, hence essentially dialogue, may be a letter in a bottle thrown out to the sea with the-surely not always strong-hope that it may somehow wash up somewhere, perhaps on the shoreline of the heart. In this way, too, poems are en route: they are headed towards. Toward what? Toward something open, inhabitable, an approachable you, perhaps, an approachable reality. Such realities are, I think, at stake in a poem.

Heart

Reality

Strong

Black milk of daybreak we drink it at sundown.

Bitterness

Black

Holocaust

Count up the almonds, Count what was bitter and kept you waking, Count me in too: I sought your eye when you glanced up and no one would see you, I spun that secret thread Where the dew you mused on Slid down to pitchers Tended by a word that reached no one’s heart. There you first fully entered the name that is yours, you stepped to yourself on steady feet, the hammers swung free in the belfry of your silence, things overheard thrust through to you, what’s dead put it’s arm around you too, and the three of you walked through the evening. Render me bitter. Number me among the almonds

Eye

Heart

Names

Death is a master from Germany.

Germany

Masters

Don’t sign your name between worlds, surmount the manifold of meanings, trust the tearstain, learn to live.

Manifold

Names

World

Each arrow you shoot off carries its own target into the decidedly secret tangle

Arrows

Secret

Target

German poetry is going in a very different direction from French poetry…. Its language has become more sober, more factual. It distrusts “beauty.” It tries to be truthful.

Beauty

Poetry

Truth

He speaks truly who speaks the shade.

Shade

Speak

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Air

Arrows

Art

Bears

Beauty

Bird

Bitterness

Black

Blood

Dark

Darkness

Doe

Earth

Enough

Eye

Flowering

Germany

Giving Up

Hands

Happenings

Healed

Heart

Holocaust

Homecoming

Hopeful

Hours

Humans

Inspirational

Invisible

Keys

Knots

Land

Language

Lasts

Light

Loneliness

Lonely

Loss

Lying

Mad

Manifold

Masters

Names

Once Upon A Time

Pieces

Poetry

Poetry Is

Reality

Remains

Roots

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Quotes by Paul Celan

Paul Celan

A nothing we were, are, shall remain, flowering: the nothing–, the no one’s rose.

Black milk of daybreak we drink it at sundown.

Death is a master from Germany.

Don’t sign your name between worlds, surmount the manifold of meanings, trust the tearstain, learn to live.

Each arrow you shoot off carries its own target into the decidedly secret tangle

German poetry is going in a very different direction from French poetry…. Its language has become more sober, more factual. It distrusts “beauty.” It tries to be truthful.

He speaks truly who speaks the shade.

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Topics by Paul Celan

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The Future Blueprint

The Home Therapist: Anti Anxiety

The Autobiography

The Behaviour Diary

The Dating Diary

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