With wine and being lost, with less and less of both: I rode through the snow, do you read me I rode God far--I rode God near, he sang, it was our last ride over the hurdled humans. They cowered… — Paul Celan Copy Share Image
With a changing key, you unlock the house where the snow of what’s silenced drifts. Just like the blood that bursts from Your eye or mouth or ear, so your key changes. Changing your key changes the word That may… — Paul Celan Copy Share Image
“Autumn eats its leaf out of my hand: we are friends. From the nuts we shell time and we teach it to walk: then… — Paul Celan Copy Share Image
We are told that when Hölderlin went 'mad,' he constantly repeated, 'Nothing is happening to me, nothing is happening to me.' — Paul Celan Copy Share Image
“Your hair waves once more when I weep. With the blue of your eyes you lay the table of love: a bed between summer… — Paul Celan Copy Share Image
Poetry is perhaps this: an Atemwende, a turning of our breath. Who knows, perhaps poetry goes its way—the way of art—for the sake of… — Paul Celan Copy Share Image
