#celan

[nununiverse]

Für Paul Celan das Geheimnis der Farne (détail) © Anselm Kiefer. Photo - Georges Poncet

#anselm kieefer #jean paul gaultier #celan #georges poncet

[johbeil]

Paul Celan – The word of going down deep

The word of going down deep that we have read. The years, the words since then. We still are who we are. You know space is infinite, you know there is no need to fly, you know: what wrote itself into your eye deepens us into depth. – Paul Celan From Die Niemandsrose (1963). Translated by Johannes Beilharz (© 2023).

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#Celan #deep #depth #Die Niemandsrose #infinity #Paul Celan #poetry translation

[smakkabagms]

the white heart of our world rolls from our hands.

Paul Celan

#celan #paul celan #quote #poem #poetry

[omegaremix]

Omega Radio for February 1, 2014; #45.

Chosen Few, The “No Fun On The Beaches”

Shirks, The “Cry Cry Cry”

Vicious, The “Dead Town

Hussy, The “Social Critique Of Madison”

Brain F≠ “So Dim”

Zygoteens, The “The River”

Ex-Cult “MPD”

Leather Nun / Ladernunnan “Ensam I Natt”

MegaCools “Fun Police 2”

Self-Defense Family “I Hate Young People, I Hate Fun”

Touche Amore “Is Survived By”

Sloths “Medication”

Total Abuse “Banned In Austin”

Bikini Kill “Jigsaw Youth”

Infinite Light Ltd. “ The Bullet Sent To Kill Me Is On Its Way”

Self-Defense Family “Apport Birds”

Death Engine “Amen”

Death Engine “Gun”

Cutthroats 9, The “Can’t Do A Thing”

Racebannon “Fox Boogie”

Pigface “Satellite: Needle In The Groove (No Damage Done)”

Corrections House “Hoax The System”

Buzzherd “Rise And Fall”

Neurosis “Sterile Vision”

Deafheaven “Please Remember”

Celan “Train Of Thought”

Cleanteeth “Collision Specialist”

Cleanteeth “Blame Canada”

J.J. Paradise Players’ Club “Music For A Dying Man”

Deluxe noise rock, garage, doom, sludge, and devastation.

#omega #music #playlists #mixtapes #noise rock #garage #doom #sludge #devastation #Cleanteeth #Celan #Deafheaven #Corrections House #Racebannon #Cutthroats 9 #J.J. Paradise Players’ Club #Self Defense Family #Bikini Kill #Touche Amore #Leathernun #Ex-Cult #Zygoteens #Hussy #Brain F≠

[etudiantfantome]

Primo Levi s’en prit une fois à Paul Celan avec violence. “Écrire c’est transmettre, dit-il. Ce n’est pas chiffrer le message et jeter la clé dans le buisson.” Mais Primo Levi se trompait. Écrire ce n’est pas transmettre. C’est appeler. Jeter la clé est encore appeler une main après soi qui cherche, qui fouille parmi les pierres et les ronces et les douleurs et les feuilles mouillées, noires, gluantes de boue, ou craquantes, ou coupantes de froid, de la nuit à l’ouest du monde. Et chiffrer le message c’est encore appeler les yeux, requérir un savoir qui transmet le perdu. - Pascal Quignard, Zétès

#pascal quignard #traité sur l'oralité silencieuse #french literature #paul celan #celan #primo levi #nuit #studyblr #gradblr #litblr

[elizabethanism]

A scientist can pretend that his work isn't himself, it's merely the impersonal truth.

An artist can't hide behind truth. He can't hide anywhere

--Le Guin

*

You are light: you will sleep through my Spring till it’s over.

I am lighter:

in front of strangers I sing.

--Celan

#le guin #Artist #Scientist #Celan #Spring #Light

[loneberry]

death and desiccated leaves

I know what Susan Howe means when she describes how, when the intensity of your reading life reaches a fever pitch, you can experience a profound telepathy between all things. Scraps of language are brought into spontaneous relation by a compulsively constellating mind. I described such experiences to my new analyst, who replied that these thoughts were "psychotic"--yet, as though he wanted to soften the blow of using such a loaded word to describe the way I make meaning out of the dross of life--he added that they also seemed somehow "real." (To be fair, the part he probably thought was psychotic was the way I turn these intuitions into prophecies, that the signs seem to be gesturing towards some hidden design that one could call fate.)

Case study. One night, not long after C's suicide, when the air was still vibrating with her absence, I heard a leaf outside my window slowly being dragged across the pavement by the wind. And the sound it made, like a shrill hiss, was her voice, the voice of the dead no longer capable of making their utterances cohere into semantic meaning--all she can do is cry and groan (as she was wont to do when alive and in despair). She is that dead leaf, I thought.

After that experience, the desiccated leaf appeared to me everywhere. I was reading the correspondence between the poets Ingeborg Bachmann and Paul Celan, which led me to revisit Bachmann's Malina. When Bachmann and Celan first met in Vienna, Celan gave her a leaf. In one letter, he accused her of losing the leaf. The gifted leaf became a motif in their writings. In Bachmann's poem "The Storm of Roses" she writes, “a leaf that met us drifts after us on the waves.” 

Toward the end of the novel Malina, there is a fevered dream sequence in which Bachmann writes, I’m still deathly afraid since it’s starting once again, since I’m going crazy, he says: Just stay calm, think about the Stadtpark, think about the leaf, think about the garden in Vienna, about our tree, the princess tree is blooming.

It's quite unfortunate that Philip Boehm chose to translate "die Paulownia" as "the princess tree" (as Paulownia's are sometimes called), for English readers would completely miss that the desiccated leaf of the Paulownia tree contains the dead lover’s name: Paul [Celan]. The Paulownia was one of Celan's favorite trees; it grew in the Place de la Contrescarpe in the Fifth Arrondissement of Paris, were Celan lived. The Paulownia was even memorialized in Jean Daive's memoir of his walks with Celan, Under the Dome. As Robert Kaufman and Philip Gerard note in the intro to the book: The “dome” of the book’s title refers in the first place to the shade-shelter formed by the trees’ foliage, the “foliage” that, in French and German, among other languages, yields terms that can signify “leaf” or “page”: feuille; Blatt.

Back to Malina. Soon after the protagonist is told to stay calm by thinking about the leaf, the death of her first love is announced: May I speak with you, madam, for a moment? asks a gentleman, I have some news for you. … I snap at him: Do not pronounce this name, ever. Don’t tell me a thing! But he shows me a desiccated leaf, and I know he has spoken the truth. My life is over, for during the transport he has drowned in the river, he was my life. I loved him more than my life.

[How terribly I wept, pondering those last two sentences, for they seemed to describe exactly how I felt in that moment.]

In Sites of the Uncanny, Eric Kligerman writes: the Blatt [leaf] returns at the end of the dream as a “vertrocknetes Blatt” (desiccated leaf/piece of paper) pulled from a river. A messenger, a Hermes-like figure, arrives from the “Totenreich” (realm of the dead) with the Blatt for the narrator. The message informs her of the stranger’s death by drowning, and thus Bachmann links the events of the Holocaust to the poet’s suicide. 

Now you see where the invisible skein of my reading had taken me. Gossamer threads seemed to link everything. Like Paul Celan, the person, C.,--whose soul I imagined was contained in the leaf--died by jumping into a river.

I re-read Virginia Woolf's The Waves, perhaps unconscious to the fact that Woolf was another river suicide--some part of me must want to understand that fatal call of water. C--she's the character Rhoda, isn't she? The principle of watery being, without defense against dissolution. Re-reading the book enables me to appreciate the exquisite structure of Woolf's text: the six friends as a hexagonal flower, but also the mirroring of the lives of the friends reflected in the italicized nature interludes.

I am gobsmacked, for the leaf appears again, this time, to foreshadow the suicide of Rhoda:

Some petals had fallen in the garden. They lay shell-shaped on the earth. The dead leaf no longer stood upon its edge, but had been blown, now running, now pausing, against some stalk.

Then, in the last interlude before Bernard's heartbreaking soliloquy, leaves appear to foreshadow the death of all the characters:

The tree shook its branches and a scattering of leaves fell to the ground. There they settled with perfect composure on the precise spot where they would await dissolution.

Every person has a phantom that lives in the world of metaphors. What is it about the desiccated leaf that makes us think of the dead? The leaf-page develops a peculiar translucency. We see beyond its surface into the frailty of human life, how we pass, how we are discarded, with the same cold anonymity of the leaves that are blown from the tree.

This morning, when I was reading Geoffrey Brock's translation of Giuseppe Ungaretti's Allegria, I noticed that Ungaretti used the image of falling leaves to describe those who perish in war.

I was reminded of one of my favorite stanza's from Alice Oswald's Memorial, which also uses the image of desiccated leaves to index dead soldiers; in her case, the war-dead of Homer's Iliad:

We are no more than leaves.

#virginia woolf #woolf #alice oswald #susan howe #literature #poetry #death #the dead #paul celan #celan #ingeborg bachmann #bachmann #giuseppe ungaretti #metaphor #simile #war #homer #the iliad #the waves #water #malina #suicide

[involuntaryataraxia]

"Years.

Years, years, a finger

fumbles downwards and upwards, fumbles

around:

seams, tangible, here

it gapes wide open, here

it grew back together - who

covered it up?"

#Celan #Engführung

[dovevonascerequadro]

Ricorda il tempo, ricorda che io ero ciò che sono: un maestro delle torri e prigioni, un alito nei tassi, un bevitore in mare, una parola su cui bruciando ti accasci.

#poetry #Celan

[unjustlyunread]

— Georges Perros, from Paper Collage II, trans. John Taylor

("in dream there is room for [[dream]]ing")

#in dream there is room for reading #georges perros #paper collage #lit #notebooks #dreaming #remembering #celan

[lunacitysworld]

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#pants #swagger #shirt #swagg #polo #jeans #skirt #celan #tshirt #blouse #outer #womens #mfr #mfrmagazine #mens #womenstyle #womensstyle #womensfashion #givenchy #givenchybag #givenchyantigona #rickowens #balmain #hba #saintlaurentparis #celine #offwhite #riccardotisci #valentino

[noworldconcerto]

#michael nyman #ute lemper #celan #paul celan #Youtube

[vulpecuia]

#Celan #favourite

[mournfulroses]

Paul Celan, from a poem titled "Afternoon with Circus and Citadel," featured in Selected Poems & Prose

#lit #paul celan #poetry #writings #words #poetry in translation #afternoon with circus and citadel #p

[elizabethanism]

"the snowneedle, swallow it"

“I lose you to you, that is my snowcomfort”

"out toward the snow – conversations"

"apart, at the snow place"

"bordersnow and—sounding out, death"

"notepaper-pain, besnowed, oversnowed"

"I was with you, Snowed One"

Celan’s snow makes me happy

“You may confidently

serve me snow:

as often as shoulder to shoulder

with the mulberry tree I strode through summer,

its youngest leaf

shrieked."

#Celan #Snow

[luthienne]

Paul Celan, Selections

[Text ID: Memory, / set up your flag at half-mast. / At half-mast / today and forever.]

#paul celan #selections #words #poetry #typography #german literature #on memory #grief is a circular staircase