Paul Celan Short Poems | Poetry

Famous Short Paul Celan Poems. Short poetry by famous poet Paul Celan. A collection of the all-time best Paul Celan short poems

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Paul Celan | Short Famous Poems and Poets

 
by Paul Celan

Landscape

 tall poplars -- human beings of this earth!
black pounds of happiness -- you mirror them to death!

I saw you, sister, stand in that effulgence.


by Paul Celan

Cologne

 In Kohln, a town of monks and bones,
And pavements fang'd with murderous stones
And rags, and hags, and hideous wenches;
I counted two and seventy stenches,
All well defined, and several stinks!
Ye Nymphs that reign o'er sewers and sinks,
The river Rhine, it is well known,
Doth wash your city of Cologne;
 But tell me, Nymphs, what power divine
 Shall henceforth wash the river Rhine?


by Paul Celan

Twelve Years

 The line
that remained, that
became true: .
.
.
your house in Paris -- become the alterpiece of your hands.
Breathed through thrice, shone through thrice.
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It's turning dumb, turning deaf behind our eyes.
I see the poison flower in all manner of words and shapes.
Go.
Come.
Love blots out its name: to you it ascribes itself.
Tr.
Michael Hamburger


by Paul Celan

This Evening Also

 more fully,
since snow fell even on this
sun-drifted, sun-drenched sea,
blossoms the ice in those baskets
you carry into town.
sand you demand in return, for the last rose back at home this evening also wants to be fed out of the trickling hour.


by Paul Celan

Twelve Years

 The line
that remained, that
became true: .
.
.
your house in Paris -- become the alterpiece of your hands.
Breathed through thrice, shone through thrice.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
It's turning dumb, turning deaf behind our eyes.
I see the poison flower in all manner of words and shapes.
Go.
Come.
Love blots out its name: to you it ascribes itself.
Tr.
Michael Hamburger


by Paul Celan

Crystal

 not on my lips look for your mouth,
not in front of the gate for the stranger,
not in the eye for the tear.
seven nights higher red makes for red, seven hearts deeper the hand knocks on the gate, seven roses later plashes the fountain.