Selected Poems and Prose of Paul Celan

Overview

The most wide-ranging volume of the work of Europe's leading postwar poet, including previously unpublished writings.
Paul Celan was born in 1920 in the East European province of Bukovina. Soon after his parents, German-speaking Jews, had perished at the hands of the Nazis, Celan wrote "Todesfuge" ("Deathfugue"), the most compelling poem to emerge from the Holocaust. Self-exiled in Paris, for twenty-five years Celan continued writing in his German mother tongue, although it had ...

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Overview

The most wide-ranging volume of the work of Europe's leading postwar poet, including previously unpublished writings.
Paul Celan was born in 1920 in the East European province of Bukovina. Soon after his parents, German-speaking Jews, had perished at the hands of the Nazis, Celan wrote "Todesfuge" ("Deathfugue"), the most compelling poem to emerge from the Holocaust. Self-exiled in Paris, for twenty-five years Celan continued writing in his German mother tongue, although it had "passed through the thousand darknesses of deathbringing speech." His writing purges and remakes that language, often achieving a hope-struck radiance never before seen in modern poetry. But in 1970, his psychic wounds unhealed, Celan drowned himself in the Seine. This landmark volume includes youthful lyrics, unpublished poems, and prose. All poems appear in the original and in translation on facing pages. John Felstiner's translations stem from a twenty-year immersion in Celan's life and work. John Bayley wrote in the New York Review of Books, "Felstiner translates ... brilliantly."

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Editorial Reviews

From Barnes & Noble
Our Review
Imagine making beautiful poems out of the deepest horror. Paul Celan's haunting "Deathfugue," considered the major poem about the Holocaust, accomplishes just that. No other poem so masterfully treads the line between good and evil, using mere hair color as the delineator between those who lived and those who died.

Now, John Felstiner, the Stanford professor who brought that unforgettable poem into English, has given us a hefty collection of Celan's poems in translation -- easily the largest group ever available to English readers. For those moved by "Deathfugue" but less than comfortable with German, there's finally a way to read much of Celan at once.

Celan's poems are always relevant because they make humanity itself their audience. "Deathfugue," for example, includes all of us in its pain -- killed and killer, bystander and witness:

Black milk of daybreak we drink you at night
we drink you at midday and morning we drink you at evening
we drink and we drink

The book includes never-before-translated poems as well as familiar favorites. English readers finally get to read poems like "There Was Earth Inside Them," which takes the biblical premise of coming from earth and returning to earth and pushes it as far as it can go:

There was earth inside them, and
they dug.

They dug and dug, and
their day went past, their night. And they did not praise God,
who, so they heard, wanted all this,
who, so they heard, witnessed all this.

Celan was a boy in Nazi-occupied Romania when he went to a friend's to sleep over. When he returned, the door to his home was sealed and his parents were gone. He never saw them again. Both that door and Celan's parents -- their voices, their mannerisms, their murders -- became the materials of poem after poem.

After the war, Celan remained in Europe and wrote in German, for many, the hated language of the conqueror or, in Felstiner's words, "a mother tongue that had suddenly turned into his mother's murderers' tongue." This challenge, Felstiner believes, is part of why Celan felt compelled to write in German.

Felstiner has spent 20 years trying to understand Celan. The first product of that project was a biography of Celan, titled Paul Celan: Poet, Survivor, Jew. Because Celan's life is so embedded in his work, Felstiner's knowledge of the nooks and crannies of his biography shines through on every page, enriching the poems.

Felstiner did his homework. He describes long nights in Celan's library, thumbing through books that looked particularly used, perusing Celan's notes and scrutinizing his scribbles in both Hebrew and German. Felstiner tells of 3am conversations with Celan's artist wife, Giselle. He even writes about a talk with Celan's son, in which Felstiner asks for permission to print the most private of notes.

This reaches a crescendo when Felstiner puts himself in Celan's shoes, wondering if Celan should have moved to Israel, as so many survivors did. One question is always present: Was there a way to prevent Celan's eventual suicide, when he drowned himself in the Seine in 1970?

For Celan, life and poetry were as closely related as life and death. He gave everything he had to the work, writing poems in the ghetto and in forced labor. In Felstiner's hands, Celan's poems remain at once spare and lush, gorgeous and frightening. There is an intimacy to these translations, a voice that comes out of close connection.

Again and again, Celan revisits his central subject, and Felstiner follows him. As the decades pass and Celan becomes a more powerful poet, he continues to hear his dead parents' voices, and he continues to mine their fates, searching the Bible, all of Jewish tradition, and much of Western culture for a way to make art out of tragedy. In the poems and in their English translations, despite all the destruction, there is one success -- at least in the space of the poems, humanity lives on.

Contributing editor Aviya Kushner is the poetry editor of Neworld magazine and has served as poetry coordinator for AGNI magazine. Her writing on poetry has appeared in The Harvard Review and The Boston Phoenix, and her essays on individual poems have been published in Poetry for Students, the college textbook on poetry. She has given readings of her own work throughout the United States and can be reached at AviyaK@aol.com.

New York Times Book Review
Respectful, nuanced renderings...invaluable for classroom use and for all readers interested in the full range of Celan's writing.
Talk
This collection...is a great introduction to one of modern poetry's unforgettable voices.
John Bayley
Felstiner translates ... brilliantly. —New York Review of Books
Elie Wiesel
John Felstiner's brilliant translation brings us closer to Paul Celan's tormented and melodious universe.
Publishers Weekly - Publisher's Weekly
Though fluent in a number of languages, Celan (1920-1970), who had come to Paris from Romanian Bukovina, pointedly wrote in German after WWII. His decomposition and recasting of that language, through a style that can seem dizzying in its complex poly-referentiality, was compounded by his erudition, by his own history as a Holocaust survivor whose parents were murdered in the camps, and finally by his suicide. For many, he one of the major poets of the 20th century. Though Celan's work presents obvious difficulties for any translator, his English-language readers have long been well-served by Michael Hamburger's starkly graceful selected translations (Poems of Paul Celan, Persea), which remain the best available, and more recently, by Pierre Joris's acute renderings of Celan's later work. Of the new collections here, the volume from Celan biographer and critic Felstiner is easily the most comprehensive, containing ample cullings from all of Celan's books, including many poems not included in Hamburger's selection, along with previously untranslated early and late work and four prose pieces. Felstiner handles these translations competently, rendering Celan in a somewhat more colloquial style than Hamburger or Joris. But his shifting diction (including "Thou") and his tendency to capitalize nouns and to let German words stand untranslated in the English text can make for a distracting admixture, as it does in Celan's much-anthologized early work, "Deathfugue": "Black milk of daybreak we drink you at night/ we drink you at midday Death is a master aus Deutschland." On the whole, Felstiner's efforts often pale beside those of Hamburger and Joris, but the page count of this dual-language collection will make it the default choice of those who will buy only one Celan volume. Popov and McHugh's collection also ranges over Celan's oeuvre, but far less comprehensively or successfully. Unlike Felstiner and Joris, Popov (The Russian People Speak: Democracy at the Crossroads) and poet McHugh (Father of the Predicaments, etc.) don't present the German texts en face, a practice they regard, in their preface, as a potential distraction from the reader's experience of their renderings. It would indeed be a distraction, making painfully clear just how far they depart from the originals to arrive at their idiosyncratic versions, which alter Celan's precise line and stanza lengths significantly, and forsake Celan's vertiginous difficulties for a more simplistic--sometimes macabre or witty--style that's littered with heavy-handed gestures. One poem, for example, contains an ex nihilo insertion gleefully riffing on a German pun, others tip the scales of Celan's carefully weighted pronouns into one viewpoint or another. Even when hewing closer to the source text, Popov and McHugh incessantly heighten the poems' language, degrading their thorniness with more traditional sentiments. Fortunately, many of the poems translated by Popov and McHugh can be found in Joris's new volume, or in his 1995 rendering of Celan's Breathturn, both of which present entire books in razor-sharp, finely nuanced translations. Threadsuns represents the continuation of a marked turn in Celan's poetics--away from lusher effusions to intensely compressed, increasingly stark investigations of language, history and the poet's own capacities. Because much of this later work is serial in nature, Joris's decision to render the books in their entirety is profoundly important, and helps to make them necessary complements to Hamburger's selections. While it may not consistently attain the dazzling heights and depths of Celan's finest work in Breathturn and 1963's The No-One's Rose, Threadsuns contains an abundance of brilliant poems and provides ample evidence for the magnitude of Celan's stature in the last century, and in the one to come. (Nov.) Copyright 2000 Cahners Business Information.
Mark M. Anderson
John Felstiner is the author of the indispensable biography Paul Celan: Poet, Survivor, Jew (1995), and he has been working on the translations in Selected Poems and Prose of Paul Celan for more than two decades. Respectful, nuanced renderings, his translations steer a middle course between Joris's literalism and the daring liberties that Celan took in his own translations of Mandelstam, Dickinson and Valéry. This collection usefully gathers poems from all periods of Celan's life as well as his sparse but illuminating prose pieces; it should prove invaluable for classroom use and for all readers interested in the full range of Celan's writing. In a sense these translations offer a second biography, distilled down to its essential poetic utterances and to what Felstiner sees as their biographical core of suffering and loss.
New York Times Book Review
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Product Details

  • ISBN-13: 9780393322248
  • Publisher: Norton, W. W. & Company, Inc.
  • Publication date: 12/28/2001
  • Edition description: (2001)
  • Pages: 464
  • Sales rank: 1,422,239
  • Product dimensions: 6.20 (w) x 9.30 (h) x 0.90 (d)

Meet the Author

Paul Celan was a poet and translator born in the East European province of Bukovina. Soon after his parents, German-speaking Jews, had perished at the hands of the Nazis, Celan wrote the poem "Todesfuge" ("Deathfugue"), which depicted life in a German concentration camp.

John Felstiner is the author of Paul Celan: Poet, Survivor, Jew. He teaches at Stanford University.

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Read an Excerpt




Excerpt


    TODESFUGE


Schwarze Milch der Frühe wir trinken sie abends
wir trinken sie mittags und morgens wir trinken sic nachts
wir trinken und trinken
wir schaufeln ein Grab in den Lüften da liegt man nicht eng
Ein Mann wohnt im Haus der spielt mit den Schlangen der schreibt
der schreibt wenn es dunkelt nach Deutschland dein goldenes Haar
Margarete
er schreibt es und tritt vor das Haus und es blitzen die Sterne er pfeift
    seine Rüden herbei
er pfeift seine Juden hervor lässt schaufeln ein Grab in der Erde
er befiehlt uns spielt auf nun zum Tanz
Schwarze Milch der Frühe wir trinken dich nachts
wir trinken dich morgens und mittags wir trinken dich abends
wir trinken und trinken
Ein Mann wohnt im Haus der spielt mit den Schlangen der schreibt
    der schreibt wenn es dunkelt nach Deutschland dein goldenes Haar
    Margarete
Dein aschenes Haar Sulamith wir schaufeln ein Grab in den Lüften
    da liegt man nicht eng
Er ruft stecht tiefer ins Erdreich ihr einen ihr andern singet und spielt
er greift nach dem Eisen im Gurt er schwingts seine Augen sind blau
stecht tiefer die Spaten ihr einen ihr andern spielt weiter zum Tanz auf
Schwarze Milch der Frühe wir trinken dich nachts
wir trinken dich mittags und morgens wir trinken dich abends
wir trinken und trinken
ein Mann wohnt im Haus dein goldenes Haar Margarete
deinaschenes Haar Sulamith er spielt mit den Schlangen


* * *


Er ruft spielt süsser den Tod der Tod ist ein Meister aus Deutschland
er ruft streicht dunkler die Geigen dann steigt ihr als Rauch in die Luft
dann habt ihr ein Grab in den Wolken da liegt man nicht eng
Schwarze Milch der Frühe wir trinken dich nachts
wir trinken dich mittags der Tod ist ein Meister aus Deutschland
wir trinken dich abends und morgens wir trinken und trinken
der Tod ist ein Meister aus Deutschland sein Auge ist blau
er trifft dich mit bleierner Kugel er trifft dich genau
ein Mann wohnt im Haus dein goldenes Haar Margarete
er hetzt seine Rüden auf uns er schenkt uns ein Grab in der Luft
er spielt mit den Schlangen und träumet der Tod ist ein Meister aus
Deutschland
dein goldenes Haar Margarete
dein aschenes Haar Sulamith


    DEATHFUGUE


Black milk of daybreak we drink it at evening
we drink it at midday and morning we drink it at night
we drink and we drink
we shovel a grave in the air where you won't lie too cramped
A man lives in the house he plays with his vipers he writes
he writes when it grows dark to Deutschland your golden hair
    Margareta
he writes it and steps out of doors and the stars are all sparkling he
    whistles his hounds to stay close
he whistles his Jews into rows has them shovel a grave in the ground
he commands us play up for the dance
Black milk of daybreak we drink you at night
we drink you at morning and midday we drink you at evening
we drink and we drink
A man lives in the house he plays with his vipers he writes
he writes when it grows dark to Deutschland your golden hair
    Margareta
Your ashen hair Shulamith we shovel a grave in the air
    where you won't lie too cramped
He shouts dig this earth deeper you lot there you others sing up and play
he grabs for the rod in his belt he swings it his eyes are so blue
stick your spades deeper you lot there you others play on for the dancing
Black milk of daybreak we drink you at night
we drink you at midday and morning we drink you at evening
we drink and we drink
a man lives in the house your goldenes Haar Margareta
your aschenes Haar Shulamith he plays with his vipers


* * *


He shouts play death more sweetly this Death is a master from
    Deutschland
he shouts scrape your strings darker you'll rise up as smoke to the sky
you'll then have a grave in the clouds where you won't lie too cramped
Black milk of daybreak we drink you at night
we drink you at midday Death is a master aus Deutschland
we drink you at evening and morning we drink and we drink
this Death is ein Meister aus Deutschland his eye it is blue
he shoots you with shot made of lead shoots you level and true
a man lives in the house your goldenes Haar Margarete
he looses his hounds on us grants us a grave in the air
he plays with his vipers and daydreams der Tod ist ein Meister aus
    Deutschland
dein goldenes Haar Margarete
dein aschenes Haar Sulamith


    MIT WECHSELNDEM SCHLUSSEL


Mit wechselndem Schlüssel
schliesst du das Haus auf, darin
der Schnee des Verschwiegenen treibt.
Je nach dem Blut, das dir quillt
aus Aug oder Mund oder Ohr,
wechselt dein Schlüssel.
Wechselt dein Schlüssel, wechselt das Wort,
das treiben darf mit den Flocken.
Je nach dem Wind, der dich fortstösst,
ballt um das Wort sich der Schnee.


    WITH A CHANGING KEY


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 drift with the flakes.
Just like the wind that rebuffs you,
packed round your word is the snow.


    ZÜRICH, ZUM STORCHEN


Vom Zuviel war die Rede, vom
Zuwenig. Von Du
und Aber-Du, von
der Trübung durch Helles, von
Jüdischem, von
deinem Gott.
Da-
von.
Am Tag einer Himmelfahrt, das
Münster stand drüben, es kam
mit einigem Gold übers Wasser.
Von deinem Gott war die Rede, ich sprach
gegen ihn, ich
liess das Herz, das ich hatte,
hoffen:
auf
sein höchstes, umröcheltes, sein
haderndes Wort —
Dein Aug sah mir zu, sah hinweg,
dein Mund
sprach sich dem Aug zu, ich hörte:
Wir
wissen ja nicht, weisst du,
wir
wissen ja nicht,
was
gilt.


    ZURICH, AT THE STORK


Our talk was of Too Much, of
Too Little. Of Thou
and Yet-Thou, of
clouding through brightness, of
Jewishness, of
your God.
Of
that.
On the day of an ascension, the
Minster stood over there, it came
with some gold across the water.
Our talk was of your God, I spoke
against him, I let the heart
I had
hope:
for
his highest, death-rattled, his
wrangling word —
Your eye looked at me, looked away,
your mouth
spoke toward the eye, I heard:
We
really don't know, you know,
we
really don't know
what
counts.


    PSALM


Niemand knetet uns wieder aus Erde und Lehm,
niemand bespricht unsern Staub.
Niemand.
Gelobt seist du, Niemand.
Dir zulieb wollen
wir blühn.
Dir
entgegen.
Ein Nichts
waren wir, sind wir, werden
wir bleiben, blühend:
die Nichts-, die
Niemandsrose.
Mit
dem Griffel seelenhell,
dem Staubfaden himmelswüst,
der Krone rot
vom Purpurwort, das wir sangen
über, o über
dem Dorn.


    PSALM


No one kneads us again out of earth and clay,
no one incants our dust.
No one.
Blessed art thou, No One.
In thy sight would
we bloom.
In thy
spite.
A Nothing
we were, are now, and ever
shall be, blooming:
the Nothing-, the
No-One's-Rose.
With
our pistil soul-bright,
our stamen heaven-waste,
our corona red
from the purpleword we sang
over, O over
the thorn.


    WO?


In den Lockermassen der Nacht.
Im Gramgeröll und-geschiebe,
im langsamsten Aufruhr,
im Weisheitsschacht Nie.
Wassernadeln
nähn den geborstenen
Schatten zusammen — er kämpft sich
tiefer hinunter,
frei.


    WHERE?


At night in crumbling rockmass.
In trouble's rubble and scree,
in slowest tumult,
the wisdom-pit named Never.
Water needles
stitch up the split
shadow — it fights its way
deeper down,
free.
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Table of Contents

List of Illustrations xv
Acknowledgments xvii
Preface xix
Early Poems (1940-1943)
Der Tote / The Dead Man 2
Finsternis / Darkness 4
Notturno / Nocturne 6
[Winter] / [Winter] 8
Nahe der Graber / Nearness of Graves 10
Der Einsame / The Lonely One 12
Schwarze Flocken / Black Flakes 14
Mohn und Gedachtnis (1952) Poppy and Memory
Ein Lied in der Wuste / A Song in the Wilderness 18
Espenbaum / Aspen Tree 20
Der Sand aus den Urnen / The Sand from the Urns 22
Lob der Ferne / Praise of Distance 24
Spat und Tief / Late and Deep 26
Corona / Corona 28
Todesfuge / Deathfugue 30
Auf Reisen / On a Journey 34
In Agypten / In Egypt 36
Kristall / Crystal 38
Die Kruge / The Tankards 40
So bist du denn geworden / So you are turned 42
Der Reisekamerad / The Travel Companion 44
Landschaft / Landscape 46
Zahle die Mandeln / Count up the almonds 48
Von Schwelle Zu Schwelle (1955) from Threshold to Threshold
Ich Horte Sagen / I Heard It Said 52
Zu Zweien / By Twos 54
Grabschrift fur Francois / Epitaph for Francois 56
Assisi / Assisi 58
Vor einer Kerze / In Front of a Candle 60
Mit Wechselndem Schlussel / With a Changing Key 64
Andenken / Remembrance 66
Nachtlich Geschurzt / Nocturnally Pursed 68
Welchen der Steine Du Hebst / Whichever Stone You Lift 70
In Memoriam Paul Eluard / In Memoriam Paul Eluard 72
Schibboleth / Shibboleth 74
Sprich Auch Du / Speak You Too 76
Argumentum e Silentio / Argumentum e Silentio 78
Die Winzer / The Vintagers 82
Inselhin / Islandward 84
Sprachgitter (1959) Speech-Grille
Stimmen / Voices 88
Zuversicht / Confidence 94
Mit Brief und Uhr / With Letter and Clock 96
Unter ein Bild / Below a Painting 98
Schliere / Streak 100
Tenebrae / Tenebrae 102
Blume / Flower 104
Sprachgitter / Speech-Grille 106
Matiere de Bretagne / Matiere de Bretagne 108
Koln, am Hof / Cologne, at the Station 110
In die Ferne / Into the Distance 112
Entwurf einer Landschaft / Sketch of a Landscape 114
Ein Auge, Offen / An Eye, Open 116
Engfuhrung / Stretto 118
Die Niemandsrose (1963) the No-One's-Rose
Es war Erde in ihnen / There was earth inside them 134
Das Wort vom Zur-Tiefe-Gehn / The word about going-to-the-depths 136
Bei Wein und Verlorenheit / With wine and lostness 138
Zurich, Zum Storchen / Zurich, at the Stork 140
Selbdritt, Selbviert / By Threes, by Fours 142
Dein Hinubersein / Your being over there 144
Zwolf Jahre / Twelve Years 146
Mit allen Gedanken / With all my thoughts 148
Die Schleuse / The Sluice 150
Stumme Herbstgeruche / Mute autumn smells 152
Eis, Eden / Ice, Eden 154
Psalm / Psalm 156
Tubingen, Janner / Tubingen, January 158
Eine Gauner- und Ganovenweise / A Rogues' and Gonifs' Ditty 160
... Rauscht der Brunnen / ... The Wellspring Rushes 164
Radix, Matrix / Radix, Matrix 166
Einem, der vor der Tur stand / To one who stood before the door 170
Mandorla / Mandorla 172
Benedicta / Benedicta 174
Die hellen Steine / The bright stones 176
Ein Wurfholz / A boomerang 178
Hawdalah / Havdalah 180
Nachmittag mit Zirkus und Zitadelle / Afternoon with Circus and Citadel 182
Ich habe Bambus geschnitten / I have cut bamboo 184
Was geschah? / What happened? 186
In Eins / In One 188
Hinausgekront / Crowned out 190
Wohin mir / Where the word 194
Huttenfenster / Tabernacle Window 196
Die Silbe Schmerz / The Syllable Pain 200
Es ist alles anders / It's all different 204
In der Luft / In the air 210
Atemwende (1967) Breathturn
Du darfst / You may 222
In die Rillen / Into the grooves 224
In den Flussen / In rivers 226
Die Zahlen / The numbers 228
Weissgrau / Whitegray 230
Mit erdwarts gesungenen Masten / With masts sung earthward 232
Schlafenzange / Temple-pincers 234
Stehen / To stand 236
Mit den Verfolgten / With the persecuted 238
Fadensonnen / Threadsuns 240
Im Schlangenwagen / In the reptile-car 242
Ich kenne dich / I know you 244
Weggebeizt / Etched away 246
Vom grossen / Scooped 248
Keine Sandkunst mehr / No more sand art 250
Hohles Lebensgehoft / Hollow homestead of life 252
Schwarz / Black 254
Landschaft / Landscape 256
In Prag / In Prague 258
Aschenglorie / Ash-aureole 260
Das Geschriebene / What's written 262
Wo? / Where? 264
Konigswut / King's rage 266
Solve / Solve 268
Coagula / Coagula 270
Osterqualm / Paschal smoke 272
Schaufaden, Sinnfaden / Show-fringes, sense-fringes 274
Ein Drohnen / A rumbling 276
Schlickende / Oozing 278
Einmal / Once 280
Fadensonnen (1968) Threadsuns
Frankfurt, September / Frankfurt, September 284
Die Spur eines Bisses / The trace of a bite 286
All deine Siegel erbrochen? Nie. / All your seals broken? Never 288
Schlafbrocken / Sleepscraps 290
Die fleissigen / Industrious 292
Wenn ich nicht weiss, nicht weiss / When I don't know, don't know 294
Du warst / You were 296
Tau / Dew 298
Uppige Durchsage / Profuse announcement 300
Nah, im Aortenbogen / Near, in the aorta's arch 302
Weil du den Notscherben fandst / Because you found the trouble-shard 304
Denk Dir / Just Think 306
Lichtzwang (1970) Light-Compulsion
Horreste, Sehreste / Remnants of hearing, of seeing 310
Wir lagen / We lay 312
Todtnauberg / Todtnauberg 314
Klopf / Knock 316
Fahlstimmig / Wan-voiced 318
Schaltjahrhunderte / Leap-centuries 320
Du sei wie du / You be like you 322
Wirk nicht voraus / Do not work ahead 324
Schneepart (1971) Snow-Part
Du liegst / You lie 328
Das angebrochene Jahr / The broached year 330
Unlesbarkeit / Illegible 332
Ich hore, die Axt hat gebluht / I hear, the axe has flowered 334
Die nachzustotternde Welt / World to be stuttered after 336
Zur Nachtordnung / To night's order 338
Fur Eric / For Eric 340
Ein Blatt / A leaf 342
Einkanter / In-edger 344
Leuchtstabe / Flashlights 346
Zeitgehoft (1976) Homestead of Time
Wanderstaude / Wanderbush 350
Mandelnde / Almonding one 352
Es stand / There stood 354
Die Glut / The heat 356
Das Leuchten / That shining 358
Die Posaunenstelle / The shofar place 360
Die Pole / The poles 362
Der Konigsweg / The king's way 364
Ich trink Wein / I drink wine 366
Es wird / There will 368
Das Nichts / Nothingness 370
Umlichtet / Clearlit 372
Krokus / Crocus 374
Rebleute / Vinegrowers 376
Uncollected Poems
Wolfsbohne / Wolfsbean 380
Full die Odnis / Pour the wasteland 386
Schreib dich nicht / Don't write yourself 388
Gedichtzu, gedichtauf / Poem-closed, poem-open 390
Prose
Ansprache anlasslich der Entgegennahme des Literaturpreises der Freien Hansestadt Bremen (1958) / Speech on the Occasion of Receiving the Literature Prize of the Free Hanseatic City of Bremen 395
Gesprach im Gebirg (1960) / Conversation in the Mountains 397
Der Meridian. Rede anlasslich der Verleihung des Georg-Buchner-Preise (1961) / The Meridian. Speech on the Occasion of the Award of the Georg Buchner Prize 401
Ansprache vor dem hebraischen Schriftstellerverband (1970) / Speech to the Hebrew Writers Association 414
Notes 415
English Index of Titles and First Lines 421
German Index of Titles and First Lines 424
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