Hungry... and the fallow endeavor or the battles in the horizon of no dreams:

From Lichtzwang (1970):

AT BRANCUSI'S, THE TWO OF US

If one of these stones
were to give away
what it is that keeps silent about it:
here, nearby,
at this old man's limping stick,
it would open up, as a wound,
in which you would have to submerge,
lonely,
far from my scream, that is
chiselled already, white.


FALLOW-VOICED, lashed
forth from the depth:
no word, no thing,
and either's unique name,

primed in you for falling,
primed in you for flying,

sore gain
of a world.


DO NOT WORK AHEAD,
do not send forth,
stand
into it, enter:

transfounded by nothingness,
unburdened of all
prayer,
microstructured in heeding
the pre-script,
unovertakable,

I make you at home,
instead of all
rest.


From Die Niemandsrose (1963):

ANABASIS

This
narrow sign between walls
the impassable-true
Upward and Back
to the heart-bright future.

There.

Syllable-
mole, sea-
coloured, far out
into the unnavigated.

Then:
buoys,
espalier of sorrow-buoys
with those
breath reflexes leaping and
lovely for seconds only -: light-
bellsounds (dum-,
dun-, un-,
unde suspirat
cor),
re-
leased, re-
deemed, ours.

Visible, audible thing, the
tent-
word growing free:

Together.



by Paul Celan
translation: Michael Hamburger


- Loving Paul Celan so much!