Celan, 1970
From frame to door,
the obvious defers, denying
entry as if
an eye could reclaim
or separate
the fallen tear
and the river’s skin,
or return
those words to
thought, water to
stone, intent
to cold
reason,
now to before.
He stepped into release.
* * *
“Celan, 1970” first appeared in October 2015. One of the most influential (and difficult) European poets of the 20th century, Paul Celan survived the horror of World War II but never escaped its shadow. A brief biography may be found here.
O at the Edges 
I like the way you break up the lines. It’s hard to make sense of it intellectually at the moment but I think it’s interesting.
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Thank you, Michael. Celan has long befuddled me, but I return to his words time and again.
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The mind bounces back and forth, from image to image, like a stone skipped on tranquil waters.
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Tranquil, and maybe not so tranquil.
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Still waters run deep …
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I find it hard to imagine stepping into that release, yet wonder at the ability-to-survive of those who suffered in the Nazi labor camps without doing so. I don’t know if that period played into his final act, but, if so, it brings an understanding. You’ve illustrated a fine balance, here.
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Celan was a conflicted man, and I would guess that yes, his survival of that period played into his last steps.
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The river’s skin… another great line! You are an endless fount of real poesy.
2500 umeboshis out of 5.
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Thank you, Daniel. Speaking of umeboshi, I ate my last two a week or so ago. Time to hit the market!
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How you can stand those awful things is beyond me… BUT then again, people think I am similarly questionable for my love of natto. But natto with a little soy sauce and mustard is divine!
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A little soy sauce and mustard could make many foods palatable! But I’m not certain about natto.
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Completely understandable. There are even regional preferences to things. All my Osaka people hate natto and hate umeboshi. All my Kyoto people eat both, and all my Tokyo people love it. But that is a stereotype I think because I am always running across exceptions to the rule like the Kyoto people.
The real issue lies in whether one eats it as is or with seasoning. Plain natto is slimy, sticky and bland: like (almost) literally eating one’s own snot. But throw in the soy sauce and mustard and natto is a divine treat tasting like it was sent down from the celestial realms by Amaterasu O-mikami Herself.
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Mmm. Snot. That sounds so appealing!
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Anyone who has giant-slalomed on skis really fast, while having a runny nose, is very familiar with its special flavour!
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Perhaps if I first snorted wasabi…
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Dear Lord! Dame desu!. That’s one fire nose you don’t want, Sensei! お気をつけください,最愛の先生！
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Natto would be fine if not for the smell, which smells like . . . smells like . . . oh, never mind. It stinks!
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So wasabi in the nostrils would help!
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I totally understand. But add a good soy sauce and a little mustard, and you have a heavenly flavored dish!
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Good to have the reminders of what it was like for survivors of the death camps.
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Agreed.
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Simply heart-rending.
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Celan was.
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Reblogged this on Crash Browsers.
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Thanks for reblogging.
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Pingback: #Celan, 1970 by @barkinet | barki2017 iPDev 👑🇲🇦❤️🌹💯💻🔬
I’m sad to hear the way his story ended and can’t help to wonder what part of his survival he found most troubling. ? His pseudonyms and shortened phrases make me wonder whether or not shame was a factor, though it would never have been his to bear. Regardless, a beautiful life.
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His poetry resonates with me. I can’t claim to understand much of it, but it elicits emotional responses.
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Some connections need not be named, just felt.
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