Quote

Spring: trees flying up to their birds

Paul Celan

Change background

T
T
T

Change font

TAGS & TOPICS

Paul Celan
Age: 49 †
Born: 1920
Born: November 23
Died: 1970
Died: April 20
Essayist
Lyricist
Poet
Translator
Czernowitz
Paul Antschel
Paul Ancel
Birds
Trees
Flying
Bird
Spring
Tree

More quotes by Paul Celan

Image
Tall poplars--human beings of this earth!
Paul Celan
Image
you're rowing by wordlight
Paul Celan
Image
German poetry is going in a very different direction from French poetry.... Its language has become more sober, more factual. It distrusts beauty. It tries to be truthful.
Paul Celan
Image
He speaks truly who speaks the shade.
Paul Celan
Image
How you die out in me: down to the last worn-out knot of breath you're there, with a splinter of life.
Paul Celan
Image
There's nothing in the world for which a poet will give up writing, not even he is a Jew and the language of his poems is German.
Paul Celan
Image
With a changing key, you unlock the house where the snow of what’s silenced drifts. Just like the blood that bursts from Your eye or mouth or ear, so your key changes. Changing your key changes the word That may drift with flakes. Just like the wind that rebuffs you, Clenched round your word is the snow.
Paul Celan
Image
Illegibility of this world. All things twice over. The strong clocks justify the splitting hour, hoarsely. You , clamped into your deepest part, climb out of yourself for ever.
Paul Celan
Image
We are told that when Hölderlin went 'mad,' he constantly repeated, 'Nothing is happening to me, nothing is happening to me.'
Paul Celan
Image
There was earth inside them, and they dug.
Paul Celan
Image
With wine and being lost, with less and less of both: I rode through the snow, do you read me I rode God far--I rode God near, he sang, it was our last ride over the hurdled humans. They cowered when they heard us overhead, they wrote, they lied our neighing into one of their image-ridden languages.
Paul Celan
Image
Black milk of daybreak we drink it at sundown.
Paul Celan
Image
A nothing we were, are, shall remain, flowering: the nothing--, the no one's rose.
Paul Celan
Image
The poem is lonely. It is lonely and en route. Its author stays with it. Does this very fact not place the poem already here, at its inception, in the encounter, in the mystery of encounter?
Paul Celan
Image
They've healed me to pieces.
Paul Celan
Image
in the air, there your root remains, there, in the air
Paul Celan
Image
no one bears witness for the witness
Paul Celan
Image
I went with my very being toward language.
Paul Celan
Image
The two heart-grey puddles: two mouthsfull of silence.
Paul Celan
Image
who is invisible enough to see you
Paul Celan