It passed through and gave back no words for that which happened; yet it passed through this happening. A poem, being an instance of language, hence essentially dialogue, may be a letter in a bottle thrown out to the sea with the-surely not always strong-hope that it may somehow wash up somewhere, perhaps on the shoreline of the heart. “Collected Prose”, p.15, Psychology Press, Paul Celan, Michael Hamburger (1972). p. 61 Passed through and could come to light again, “enriched” by all this.” -- Paul Celan, “Black milk of daybreak we drink it at sundown.” -- Paul Celan, “The poem is lonely. Does this very fact not place the poem already here, at its inception, in the encounter, in the mystery of encounter?” -- Paul Celan, “German poetry is going in a very different direction from French poetry.... Its language has become more sober, more factual. Perhaps, along with the I, estranged and freed here, in this manner, some other thing is also set free?”, “Reality is not simply there, it does not simply exist: it must be sought out and won.”, “How you die out in me: down to the last worn-out knot of breath you're there, with a splinter of life.”, “Count up the almonds, Count what was bitter and kept you waking, Count me in too: I sought your eye when you glanced up and no one would see you, I spun that secret thread Where the dew you mused on Slid down to pitchers Tended by a word that reached no one’s heart. the nothing--, the Poetry is perhaps this: an Atemwende, a turning of our breath. It distrusts "beauty." Poems in this sense too are under way: they are making toward something. Toward what? Does this very fact not place the poem already here, at its inception, in the encounter, in the mystery of encounter? I cannot see any basic difference between a handshake and a poem. Subscribe Paul Celan — Romanian Poet born on November 23, 1920, died on April 20, 1970 Paul Celan was a German language poet and translator. In spite of everything, it remained secure against loss.”, “rush of pine scent (once upon a time), the unlicensed conviction there ought to be another way of saying this.”, “Poetry is perhaps this: an Atemwende, a turning of our breath. Toward something open, inhabitable, an approachable you, perhaps, an approachable reality. “Nineteen poems”, Paul. It is perhaps here, in this one brief moment, that Medusa’s head shrivels and the automaton runs down? Only one thing remained reachable, close and secure amid all losses: language. It is perhaps here, in this one brief moment, that Medusa’s head shrivels and the automaton runs down? Yes, language. In this way, too, poems are en route: they are headed towards. It, the language, remained, not lost, yes, in spite of everything. #Strong #Heart #Reality “Only one thing remained reachable, close and secure amid all losses: language. Such realities are, I think, at stake in a poem.”, “Only one thing remained reachable, close and secure amid all losses: language. Passed through and could come to light again, “enriched” by all this.”, “Black milk of daybreak we drink it at sundown.”, “The poem is lonely. "Reality is not simply there, it must be searched and won." Toward what? It is lonely and en route. And since the strange, the abyss and Medusa’s head, the abyss and the automaton, all seem to lie in the same direction—is it perhaps this turn, this Atemwende, which can sort out the strange from the strange? A poem, as a manifestation of language and thus essentially dialogue, can be a message in a bottle, sent out in the –not always greatly hopeful-belief that somewhere and sometime it could wash up on land, on heartland perhaps. 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. There you first fully entered the name that is yours, you stepped to yourself on steady feet, the hammers swung free in the belfry of your silence, things overheard thrust through to you, what’s dead put it’s arm around you too, and the three of you walked through the evening. The heart hid still in the dark, hard as the Philosophers Stone. “Only truthful hands write true poems. We are told that when Hölderlin went 'mad,' he constantly repeated, 'Nothing is happening to me, nothing is happening to me.'. -- Paul Celan . Just a moment while we sign you in to your Goodreads account. It, the language, remained, not lost, yes, in spite of everything. Quotations by Paul Celan, Romanian Poet, Born November 23, 1920. In spite of everything, it remained secure against loss. Celan (2011). Toward something open, inhabitable, an approachable you, perhaps, an approachable reality. Follow AzQuotes on Facebook, Twitter and Google+. Read! Loving Psychoanalysis. 88 quotes from Paul Celan: 'Poetry is a sort of homecoming. Poems in this sense too are under way: they are making toward something. "; cited in: Ruth Golan (2006). Paul Celan Quotes. In spite of everything, it remained secure against loss. Toward something standing open, occupiable, perhaps toward an addressable Thou, toward an addressable reality.”. Poems in this sense too are under way: they are making toward something. In spite of everything, it remained secure against loss.” -- Paul Celan, “no one bears witness for the witness” -- Paul Celan, “who is invisible enough to see you” -- Paul Celan, “Poetry is a sort of homecoming.” -- Paul Celan, “They've healed me to pieces.” -- Paul Celan, “Spring: trees flying up to their birds” -- Paul Celan, “rush of pine scent (once upon a time), the unlicensed conviction there ought to be another way of saying this.” -- Paul Celan, “Poetry is perhaps this: an Atemwende, a turning of our breath. “Selected poems”, Penguin Books Ltd 27 Copy quote A poem, being an instance of language, hence essentially dialogue, may be a letter in a bottle thrown out to the sea with the-surely not always strong-hope that it may somehow wash up somewhere, perhaps on the shoreline of the heart. Its author stays with it. Free Daily Quotes. It, the language, remained, not lost, yes, in spite of everything. “Paul Celan: Selections”, p.164, Univ of California Press, Paul Celan, Rosemarie Waldrop (2003). It, the language, remained, not lost, yes, in spite of everything. “ How you die out in me: down to the last worn-out knot of breath you’re there, with a splinter of life. Yes, language. "Aspen Tree. There was earth inside them, and they dug. Every day we present the best quotes! Sourced quotations by the Romanian Translator Paul Celan (1920 — 1970) about time, drink and death. They cowered when they heard us overhead, they wrote, they lied our neighing into one of their image-ridden languages. Each arrow you shoot off carries its own target into the decidedly secret tangle. Perhaps, along with the I, estranged and freed here, in this manner, some other thing is also set free?”, “Only one thing remained reachable, close and secure amid all losses: language. I cannot see any basic difference between a handshake and a poem.” -- Paul Celan, “We are told that when Hölderlin went 'mad,' he constantly repeated, 'Nothing is happening to me, nothing is happening to me. Perhaps, along with the I, estranged and freed here, in this manner, some other thing is also set free? “Collected Prose”, p.34, Psychology Press, Paul Celan (1972). Changing your key changes the word That may drift with flakes. Its author stays with it. A little stallion gallops across the leafing fingers-Black the gate leaps open, I sing; How did we live here? It went through. Its author stays with it. Changing your key changes the word That may drift with flakes. Who knows, perhaps poetry goes its way—the way of art—for the sake of just such a turn? There you first fully entered the name that is yours, you stepped to yourself on steady feet, the hammers swung free in the belfry of your silence, things overheard thrust through to you, what’s dead put it’s arm around you too, and the three of you walked through the evening. In this way, too, poems are en route: they are headed towards. Enjoy the best Paul Celan quotes and picture quotes! But it had to pass through its own answerlessness, pass through frightful muting, pass through the thousand darknesses of deathbringing speech. “Only one thing remained reachable, close and secure amid all losses: language. Improve yourself, find your inspiration, share with friends, Paul Celan, Rosemarie Waldrop (2003). Paul Celan (1972). Toward what? Toward something standing open, occupiable, perhaps toward an addressable Thou, toward an addressable reality. Goodreads helps you follow your favorite authors. Render me bitter. All things twice over. “Glottal Stop: 101 Poems by Paul Celan”, p.59, Wesleyan University Press, There is a mistake in the text of this quote. It is perhaps here, in this one brief moment, that Medusa’s head shrivels and the automaton runs down? “Collected Prose”, p.26, Psychology Press, Paul Celan, Rosemarie Waldrop (2003).
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