Twelve Years by Paul Celan

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

End of the poem

15 random poems

 

Poetry by subject

Some external links:

The Bat’s Own Poetry Cave 

Talking Writing Monster.

Duckduckgo.com – the alternative in the US

Quant.com – a search engine from France, and also an alternative, at least for Europe

Yandex – the Russian search engine (it’s probably the best search engine for image searches).

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