{"id":16832,"date":"2020-08-04T16:47:51","date_gmt":"2020-08-04T20:47:51","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/pierrejoris.com\/blog\/?p=16832"},"modified":"2020-08-04T16:47:51","modified_gmt":"2020-08-04T20:47:51","slug":"4-poems-by-paul-celan-with-commentaries","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/pierrejoris.com\/blog\/4-poems-by-paul-celan-with-commentaries\/","title":{"rendered":"4 Poems by Paul Celan, with Commentaries"},"content":{"rendered":"

As I am in the process of proofing my final Paul Celan volume of translations \u2014 Memory Rose into Threshold Speech: The Collected Earlier Poetry<\/em><\/a> \u2014 to be published by FSG in early November, the month Celan turns 100, I thought I\u2019d post a few of the earliest poems that speak to me this morning (which, I guess, allows me to simultaneously alleviate the tediousness of proofing & the excitement of finally getting close to publishing these translations.) I am adding the commentaries (based on the commentaries by Barbara Wiedemann in her superb\u00a0 edition of Celan\u2019s complete poetry) though these will be fully useful only once you have the book in hand as many of the references are to other poems in the book.\u00a0 And check this blog over the next 2 or 3 months, as I will publish a few more Celan poems.<\/p>\n

TALGLICHT<\/span><\/p>\n

Die M\u00f6nche mit haarigen Fingern schlugen das Buch auf: September.
\n<\/span>Jason wirft nun mit Schnee nach der aufgegangenen Saat.
\n<\/span>Ein Halsband aus H\u00e4nden gab dir der Wald, so schreitest du tot
\n<\/span>\u00fcbers Seil.<\/p>\n

Ein dunkleres Blau wird zuteil deinem Haar, und ich rede von Liebe.
\n<\/span>Muscheln red ich und leichtes Gew\u00f6lk, und ein Boot knospt im Regen.
\n<\/span>Ein kleiner Hengst jagt \u00fcber die bl\u00e4tternden Finger \u2013
\n<\/span>Schwarz springt das Tor auf, ich singe:
\n<\/span>Wie lebten wir hier?<\/span><\/p>\n

TALLOW LIGHT<\/span><\/p>\n

The monks with hairy fingers laid open the book: September.
\n<\/span>Jason now throws snow at the sprouting seed.
\n<\/span>A necklace of hands the forest gave you, so dead you walk
\n<\/span>the rope.<\/p>\n

A darker blue becomes part of your hair, and I speak of love.
\n<\/span>Shells I speak and light clouds, and a boat buds in the rain.
\n<\/span>A little stallion gallops over the leaf-turning fingers \u2014
\n<\/span>Black the gate leaps open, I sing:
\n<\/span>How did we live here?<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/p>\n

AUF REISEN<\/span><\/p>\n

Es ist eine Stunde, die macht dir den Staub zum Gefolge,
\n<\/span>dein Haus in Paris zur Opferstatt deiner H\u00e4nde,
\n<\/span>dein schwarzes Aug zum schw\u00e4rzesten Auge.<\/span><\/p>\n

Es ist ein Geh\u00f6ft, da h\u00e4lt ein Gespann f\u00fcr dein Herz.
\n<\/span>Dein Haar m\u00f6chte wehn, wenn du f\u00e4hrst \u2013 das ist ihm verboten.
\n<\/span>Die bleiben und winken, wissen es nicht.<\/span><\/p>\n

TRAVELING<\/span><\/p>\n

There is an hour that makes dust your escort,
\n<\/span>your house in Paris your hands\u2019 sacrificial altar,
\n<\/span>your black eye the blackest eye.<\/span><\/p>\n

There is a homestead, where a team for your heart pulls up.
\n<\/span>Your hair wants to waft when you ride \u2014 but that\u2019s forbidden.
\n<\/span>Those who stay and wave don\u2019t know it.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/p>\n

AUF HOHER SEE<\/span><\/p>\n

Paris, das Schifflein, liegt im Glas vor Anker:
\n<\/span>so halt ich mit dir Tafel, trink dir zu.
\nIch trink so lang, bis dir mein Herz erdunkelt,
\n<\/span>so lange, bis Paris auf seiner Tr\u00e4ne schwimmt,
\n<\/span>so lange, bis es Kurs nimmt auf den fernen Schleier,
\nder uns die Welt verh\u00fcllt, wo jedes Du ein Ast ist,
\nan dem ich h\u00e4nge als ein Blatt, das schweigt und schwebt. <\/span><\/p>\n

ON THE HIGH SEAS<\/span><\/p>\n

Paris, a tiny ship, lies at anchor in the glass:
\n<\/span>and so I feast with you, drink to you.
\n<\/span>I drink until my heart endarkens for you,
\n<\/span>until Paris swims on its tear,
\n<\/span>until it sets course for the distant veil
\n<\/span>that shrouds the world for us, where every You is a branch,
\n<\/span>from which I hang, a leaf, that in silence sways. <\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/p>\n

TOTENHEMD<\/span><\/p>\n

Was du aus Leichtem wobst,
\n<\/span>trag ich dem Stein zu Ehren.
\n<\/span>Wenn ich im Dunkel die Schreie
\n<\/span>wecke, weht es sie an. <\/span><\/p>\n

Oft, wenn ich stammeln soll,
\n<\/span>wirft es vergessene Falten,
\n<\/span>und der ich bin, verzeiht
\n<\/span>dem, der ich war. <\/span><\/p>\n

Aber der Haldengott
\nr\u00fchrt seine dumpfeste Trommel,
\n<\/span>und wie die Falte fiel,
\n<\/span>runzelt der Finstre die Stirn. <\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/p>\n

SHROUD<\/span><\/p>\n

What you of gossamer wove,
\n<\/span>I wear in honor of stone.
\n<\/span>When in the dark I wake the
\n<\/span>screams, it wafts above them.<\/span><\/p>\n

Often when I should stammer,
\n<\/span>it throws forgotten creases,
\n<\/span>and who I am forgives
\n<\/span>the one I was.<\/span><\/p>\n

But the attleheapgod
\n<\/span>beats his dullest drum,
\n<\/span>and just as the crease runs,
\n<\/span>the Dark One frowns.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/p>\n

Commentaries:<\/strong><\/h3>\n

Talglicht | Tallow Ligh<\/strong><\/em>t
\n<\/span><\/p>\n

Bucharest, 1945 or more likely 1946. First published in SU<\/i>.
\n<\/span>1 <\/span>The monks with hairy fingers laid open the book: September.<\/span>] cf v. 2 f. pf \u201cSchwarze Flocken | Black flakes;\u201d Barbara Wiedemann suggests a possible connection of that month with the fact that 15 September 1935 was the date of the Nazi Nurnberg laws which stripped the German Jews of their civil rights.
\n<\/span>1 schlugen das Buch auf | laid open the book, 6 Ein kleiner Hengst jagt \u00fcber die bl\u00e4tternden Finger | a little stallion gallops over the leaf-turning fingers] Cf. v. 4 & 9 f. of\u00a0 <\/span>\u201cK\u00f6nigswut | King\u2019s Rage\u201d (BiT p 74\/75.)
\n<\/span>2 Jason] In Greek myth, the leader of the argonauts on their journey to Colchis on the Black Sea, where, among other things, he has to sow dragon teeth and fight with the warriors that grow from these. Cf. the altered ref. to this in v. 2 of\u00a0 <\/span>\u201cDas Gastmahl | The banquet.\u201d Ancient Colchis, also Ovid\u2019s place of exile, is not too far from Celan\u2019s homeland, the Bukowina. In a later letter Celan will establish the connection between this toponym and the Latin & French name for the flower known in German as \u201cHerbstzeitlose,\u201d the autumn crocus (cf. PC\/GCL #145, \u201cDie Silbe Schmerz | The syllable pain\u201d & v. 80 of \u201cUnd mit dem Buch aus Tarussa | And with the Book from Tarussa.\u201d). <\/span><\/p>\n

Auf Reisen | Traveling<\/span><\/strong><\/em><\/p>\n

Vienna, probably 1948. PC in Paris as of 7. 14. 48 On the ms. for SU<\/i> it says: \u201c(before departure)\u201d. On 9. 10. 1948 Celan sent the poem to Alfred Margul-Sperber in Bucharest with the date \u201cInnsbruck, 28. June 1948.\u201d\u00a0 <\/span>First printed in SU<\/i>.
\n<\/span>2 your house in Paris your hands\u2019 sacrificial altar ] Celan lived from 7. 14. 1948 until his death in Paris. Cf.\u00a0 <\/span>citation of this line in \u201cZw\u00f6lf Jahre|Twelve Years,\u201d v. 3-5.
\n<\/span>4 homestead] cf. the later poem \u201cHollow Lifehomestead\u201d in BIT p. 29.
\n<\/span>4 <\/span>a match for your heart |<\/span>Gespann f\u00fcr dein Herz] Untranslatable pun: Celan, very well versed in botany,\u00a0 <\/span>here probably\u00a0 <\/span>deconstructed the word \u201cHerzgespann,\u201d the name of a plant, Leonurus cardiaca<\/i>, originating in Westasia, motherwort, throw-wort, or lion\u2019s tail. The plant grows on waysides, dumping grounds, etc. Cf. commentary to v. 2 of \u201cEmbankments, Roadsides, Vacant Lots, Rubble.\u201d Cf. also Celan\u2019s readings in Jean Paul (Richter)\u2019s work where the word occurs on a number of occasions.
\n<\/span>5 Dein Haar m\u00f6chte wehn, wenn du f\u00e4hrst \u2013 das ist ihm verboten. |Your hair wants to waft when you drive \u2014 but that\u2019s forbidden] Cf. v.1 of \u201cLock\u201d (TtT): \u201cLock, that I didn\u2019t braid, that I let waft,\u201d <\/span><\/p>\n

Auf Hoher See | On the High Seas<\/span><\/strong><\/em><\/p>\n

Paris, 1949.
\n<\/span>Celan sent the poem on 10. 7. 1949 in a letter to Diet Kloos-Barend with the title \u201cRauchtopas | Smoky Quartz.\u201d Celan added: \u201cI think it is a beautiful poem, Diet, no, I\u2019m sure it is a beautiful poem. A good sign.\u201d (PC\/DKB 38-40 & 75 f.). Diet Kloos-Barend wore a smoky quartz ring, given her by Jan Kloos, her husband who had been tortured and murdered by the Nazis in her presence.
\n<\/span>1, 4 Paris] In the official town seal of Paris, Celan\u2019s hometown since July 1948, there is a ship with the motto \u201cFluctuat nec mergitur [It floats but doesn\u2019t sink].\u201d
\n<\/span><\/p>\n

Totenhemd | Shroud<\/span><\/strong><\/em><\/p>\n

Paris, before 1950.
\n<\/span>1 Was du aus Leichtem wobst |What you from gossamer wove] reference to v. 19 of \u201cSchwarze Flocken | Black Flakes\u201d a poem published in SU<\/i>, but not included: \u201c Kam mir die Tr\u00e4ne. Webt ich das T\u00fcchlein | A tear came to me. I wove the little cloth.\u201d
\n<\/span>9 Haldengott | attlegod] cf. what Jean Boase-Beier has to say about the etymologies of this image-complex: \u201cThe image of a god of rubble-heaps, recalling the \u2018 Trummerhaufen\u2019 of Germany in the aftermath of war and Allied bombing, and the\u00a0 <\/span>\u2018Trummerfrauen\u2019 who worked at clearing them up, suggests, with its reference to a drum, the repetitive sounds or feelings of traumatic memory. But beyond this image, the language itself is full of significance. \u2018Halde\u2019 is another word for \u2018Trummerhaufen\u2019 and \u2018Trimmer* derives from \u2018Trumm\u2019 (\u2018piece\u2019), which is originally from Old High German \u2018drum\u2019, a word which, like the Old English \u2018thrum\u2019, means a \u2018small fragment\u2019. \u2018Trummer1, a word that is only present in the synonymity of \u2018Trummerhaufen\u2019 to \u2018Halde\u2019, thus recalls the English word \u2018drum\u2019 for \u2018Trommel1, via its homophony with the Old High German word. And the Old High German \u2018drum\u2019 and the Old English \u2018thrum\u2019 have given us the modern technical word \u2018thrum\u2019 in English: the end of a warp thread. \u2018Warp\u2019 derives from the Old English \u2018 weorpan\u2019, which led to\u2019 werferi in German, a word that appears in the second stanza, and \u2018weapon\u2019 in English, and is related to the Indo-Germanic *\u2019ueri, which gave the German \u2018Wunde\u2019 and the English \u2018wound\u2019. Furthermore, because the first line (in its English translation) is \u2018That which you wove\u2019, the warp-end \u2018thrum\u2019 that echoes through \u2018Trommef and \u2018Trummer\u201d ties together the images of weaving and drumming. [\u2026]<\/span><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

As I am in the process of proofing my final Paul Celan volume of translations \u2014 Memory Rose into Threshold Speech: The Collected Earlier Poetry \u2014 to be published by FSG in early November,...<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":16834,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[91,103],"tags":[1730],"class_list":["post-16832","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-poetry","category-translation","tag-paul-celan"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/pierrejoris.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/16832","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/pierrejoris.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/pierrejoris.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/pierrejoris.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/pierrejoris.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=16832"}],"version-history":[{"count":17,"href":"https:\/\/pierrejoris.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/16832\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":16866,"href":"https:\/\/pierrejoris.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/16832\/revisions\/16866"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/pierrejoris.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/16834"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/pierrejoris.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=16832"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/pierrejoris.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=16832"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/pierrejoris.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=16832"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}