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.
Tr. Michael Hamburger
(Paul Celan)
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Based on Topics: Love Poems, Name PoemsBased on Keywords: flower, shapes, deaf, breathed, thrice, remained, paris, michael, manner, blots, hamburger