67 Quotes by Paul Celan

Only one thing remained reachable, close and secure amid all losses: language. Yes, language. In spite of everything, it remained secure against loss.

Don't sign your namebetween worlds,surmountthe manifold of meanings,trust the tearstain,learn to live.

How you die out in me:down to the lastworn-out knot of breathyou're there, with a splinter of life.

Each arrow you shoot offcarries its own targetinto the decidedlysecrettangle

rush of pine scent (once upon a time),the unlicensed convictionthere ought to be another wayof sayingthis.

U izvoru tvojih očijumore drži svoju riječ.Ja ondje bacamsrce koje je boravilo kod ljudi.

With wine and being lost, withless and less of both:I rode through the snow, do you read meI rode God far--I rode Godnear, he sang,it wasour last ride overthe hurdled humans.They cowered whenthey heard usoverhead, theywrote, theylied our neighinginto one of theirimage-ridden languages.

Reachable, near and not lost, there remained in the midst of the losses this one thing: language. It, the language, remained, not lost, yes, in spite of everything. But it had to pass through its own answerlessness, pass through frightful muting, pass through the thousand darknesses of deathbringing speech. It passed through and gave back no words for that which happened; yet it passed through this happening. Passed through and could come to light again, “enriched” by all this.

With a changing key, you unlock the house wherethe snow of what’s silenced drifts.Just like the blood that bursts fromYour eye or mouth or ear,so your key changes.Changing your key changes the wordThat may drift with flakes.Just like the wind that rebuffs you,Clenched round your word is the snow.