I’ve been reading poetry recently. Here are some beautiful moments that two poets have brought us.
The forest gave you a necklace of hands. So dead you walk the rope.
~ Paul Celan (line from Tallow Lamp)
Your hands full of hours, you came to me–and I said:
Your hair is not brown.
So you lifted it lightly on to the scales of grief; it weighed more
~ Paul Celan (fragment from Your hands full of hours)
Black milk of daybreak we drink it at sundown
we drink it at noon in the morning we drink it at night
we drink and we drink it
we dig a grave in the breezes there one lies unconfined
A man lives in the house he plays with serpents he writes
he writes when dusk falls to Germany your golden hair
he writes it and steps out of doors and the stars are flashing he
whistles his pack out
he whistles his Jews out in earth has them dig for a grave
he commands us strike up for the dance
~ Paul Celan (fragment from Death Fugue)
Life produces death, which is its essence.
~ Adonis (line from Explanations)
How can I call what is between us a past?
“What is between us is not a story
not a human apple or a jinn’s
not a sign of a season
or a place
not anything that could be historicized” This is
what the vicissitudes inside us say
How can I say then that our love
has been taken by the wrinkled hands of time
~ Adonis (How can I call what is between us a past; from Beginnings of the Body, Ends of the Sea)
He holds the plow to his chest,
clouds and rain in his palms.
His plow opens doors
toward a richer possibility.
He scatters dawn on his field
and gives it meaning.
~ Adonis (fragment from Rains)