Professional Documents
Culture Documents
Celan, Paul - Glottal Stop (Wesleyan, 2004) PDF
Celan, Paul - Glottal Stop (Wesleyan, 2004) PDF
glottal stop
Paul Celan: Glottal Stop page ii
wesleyan poetry
Paul Celan: Glottal Stop page iii
glottal stop
101 poems by
paul celan
translated by
Middletown, Connecticut
Paul Celan: Glottal Stop page iv
contents
Acknowledgments ix
Preface xi
Glottal Stop
Voices, scored into 1
summer report 4
With wine and being lost, with 5
threesome, foursome 6
erratic 7
Hand- 8
To one who stood outside the door, one 9
Flung wood 11
How low could it go, my once immortal word 12
pain, the syll able 13
l a contrescarpe 15
Floated down blackwater rapids 17
Gray-white of sheer 18
(I know you: you’re the one who’s bent so low 19
Singable remainder—trace 20
Flooding, big 21
Go blind at once, today 22
Ring-narrowing Day under 23
At high noon, in 25
The hourglass buried 25
Behind the charcoal surfaces of sleep 26
Go back and add up 27
Half-mauled, mask- 28
From fists white with the truth 29
Noisemakers shoot into the light: it’s the Truth 30
You forget you forget 31
Paul Celan: Glottal Stop page vi
Crackpots, decomposing 32
Lichtenberg’s heir- 33
The sight of the songbirds at dusk 34
Gurgling, then 35
frankfurt, september 36
Coincidence staged, the signs all 38
Who 39
Spasms, I love you, psalms 40
night in pau 41
l ater in pau 42
The ounce of truth in the depths of delusion 43
lyon, les archers 44
Sleep-pieces, wedges 45
Attached to out-cast 46
Graygreens 47
Chitin sunlings 48
Eternities dead 49
Hothouse of an asylum 50
Lucky, the 51
On the rainsoaked rutted road 52
White noises, bundled 53
Your heart manholed 54
Here are the industrious 55
When I don’t know, when I don’t know 56
Gigantic 57
Day freed from demons 58
Husks of the finite, stretchable 59
Wet from the world 60
Hush, you hag, and ferry me across the rapids 61
Eyeshot’s island, broken 62
Eternity gets older: at 63
It’s late. A fat fetish 64
Come, we are cutting out 65
vi
Paul Celan: Glottal Stop page vii
vii
Paul Celan: Glottal Stop page viii
Notes 109
viii
Paul Celan: Glottal Stop page ix
acknowledgments
Our enterprise benefited from the generosity of many friends and col-
leagues. Jerry Glenn read an early version of the manuscript and
made invaluable comments; over the years we were encouraged and
supported by James Lyon, John Felstiner, Robert Pinsky, John Hol-
lander, Michael Speier, and the late Ernst Behler. Our editors at
Wesleyan University Press—Suzanna Tamminen and Tom Radko—
kept the faith through a protracted copyright negotiation. Sarah
Spence at Literary Imagination, by contacting Petra Hardt at Suhr-
kampVerlag, enabled us to break the copyright ice-jam. Yehuda
Amichai blessed our very first efforts. We thank them all.
Boston Review
With wine and being lost, with
Threesome, Foursome
Frankfurt, September
Your heart manholed
The Drunken Boat
Who
Lyon, Les Archers
Eternity gets older: at
Harper’s
Come, we are cutting out
Windfield bound for winter: this
Weather hand
Open glottis, air flow
The cables have already been laid
Jubilat
Floated down blackwater rapids
Spasms, I love you, psalms
Paul Celan: Glottal Stop page x
Graygreens
Ring-narrowing Day, under
Attached to out-cast
Chitin sunlings
Literary Imagination
The sight of the songbirds
Gigantic
Come, we are cutting out
Windfield bound for winter: this
Weather hand
Open glottis, air flow
The cables have already been laid
Marlboro Review
Voices, scored into
Noisemakers shoot into the Light: it’s the Truth
As loud colors, heaped up
White, white, white
Haut Mal
Seneca Review
Coincidence staged, the signs all
Eyeshot’s island, broken
Flung wood
You with the dark slingshot
Out of angel flesh, on
Pain, the syllable
Verse
Erratic
Gray-white of sheer
At high noon, in
Go back and add up
Half-mauled, mask
Wet from the world
Hush, you hag, and ferry me across the rapids
Walls of speech, inwards space
She of the freckled farewells
And force and pain
x
Paul Celan: Glottal Stop page xi
preface
In 1992 when we began this project, our intention was to supply ver-
sions of Celan poems not yet available in English.1 Such a restriction
focused our attention on Celan’s collections Fadensonnen and Atem-
wende. As our work progressed we added untranslated poems from
Celan’s later books and retranslated a few poems already available in
English, for the sake of contextual coherence (Celan’s later poems
often quote, allude to, or rewrite earlier poems of his). We believe that
only a wide range of translatorial approaches can do justice to a
poetry as complex as Celan’s, and through our selection and method
we have emphasized some of his understudied poetic virtues. Our se-
lection bypasses many major poems of Celan’s middle period (most of
those can be found in Neugroschel and Hamburger); it contains
poems from a later, less known, and more opaque, elusive, or down-
right disturbing body of work. We hope that our selection will sur-
prise readers—those familiar with former translations and those
about to encounter Celan for the first time—as we ourselves were sur-
prised by the range of Celan’s imagination, by the variety of poems he
was capable of writing in his last decade, and by the exquisite formal
discipline of those poems (written at a time of profound personal crisis).
Out of respect for Celan’s aesthetic control and integrity, we re-
stricted ourselves to poems for which we could find, in English, suf-
ficiently rich or opportune poetic resources to justify publication. No
one can reproduce in a language other than German Celan’s tragic
relation to the language which was his instrument and life, a lan-
guage that had remained silent through the horror. Like Büchner’s,
his words come to us framed by those invisible quotation marks that
always listen “not without fear, for something beyond themselves,
beyond words.”2 The beauty, the daring, and the tragedy of Celan’s
poetry cannot be comprehended merely in terms of reference. (What
is “reference” in Celan?) We sought, cautiously, to create poems that
follow Celan’s intentional mode (Benjamin’s Art des Meinens), and
the intensity of his listening to language itself. Given the fundamen-
tals of Celan’s poetics (phono-graphic, grammatical, and rhetorical),
any attempt to isolate a “literal” meaning apart from those funda-
mentals would seriously impoverish and distort the effect of the
poems, both individually and as a whole. Everything in a poem is lit-
eral, that is, made of letters, blanks, and their interrelationships on
the page, and the literal is everything. Precisely this omnipresence of
the letter, and the depth of Celan’s probings into the matrix of his
“original” language, prohibit naive replications of line or meaning.
Celan’s word order in German is quite natural, but the same linear
order in English can sometimes misleadingly suggest experiments in
syntax where there are none, and so drown out other features of his
formal daring. In short, we often sought higher levels of fidelity than
those of the word, the line, or the individual poem: Working on a
fairly large body of poems allowed us to re-create, where possible in
English, effects that seemed characteristic of his art as a whole, for
example, Celan’s frequent use of paronymy not as an embellishing
but as a structuring device, or his way of wrenching a word apart so
that its parts would speak as loudly as the whole.
In the course of our sift, we threw out about a third of the approx-
imately one hundred and fifty poems translated in all—precisely in
the cases where we felt we had not advanced significantly beyond a
working version of mere meaning. The admirability of a poem in its
original German was a necessary but not a sufficient raison d’être for
its final inclusion in this book; its conduciveness to the resources of
English poetry had to meet a very high standard, too. In other words,
we required of ourselves extraordinary results in the target language:
Nothing short of that selectiveness seemed sufficient homage to
Celan himself.
xii
Paul Celan: Glottal Stop page xiii
* * *
As a mysterious paradigm of the encounter between self and other,
the process of translation itself suggested the title for our enterprise.
The glottis is not a thing but an interstice: the space between vocal
chords. A glottal stop is, in Webster’s words, “the speech sound pro-
duced by momentary complete closure of the glottis, followed by ex-
plosive release.” Celan uses the term to end the poem “Frankfurt,
September”: “the glottal stop is breaking into song.” In this poem,
each of a series of obstructions gives way to a version of expression:
blindness to brilliance, flat rasters to 3-D sweat, lamentations to
open-mindedness, glottal stop to song. (One could say that the arc de-
scribed in the latter instance is that from linguistic precision to poetic
uncontainability.) Celan’s poetry abounds in motifs of the mother’s
death in a concentration camp: she died of a wound to the throat. If
utterances issue from a gaping hole, so too does blood: the place of
vulnerability is also the place of poetry.
xiii
Paul Celan: Glottal Stop page xiv
* * *
What need of Day—
To those whose Dark—hath so—surpassing Sun—
It deem it be—continually—
At the Meridian?
Emily Dickinson (#611)
xiv
xv
xvi
At times, the landscapes of man and mind and language seem syn-
onymous. The remarkers may be moved, the markers may float (even
continents and anchors shift; there are forms of tug and barge for
moving meaning), but at the bottom of it all, past the shells and slimes
of ultimate (or originary things), there’s something unspeakable.
Sometimes the Celanian pool is a stone-gray surface (across
which felt and faithful swans may steer their way). On one poem’s
stone surface appears lettering, beneath which Celan imagines a
“deep brother-letter,” to put us in several minds at once: of lapidary
inscription’s role in human memory, and also of the prospective
(and projective) force of language itself, making its attempts on the
timeless. From the surface folds or levees of the stream of conscious-
ness, we should not then be surprised to find ourselves fallen into
the fossae (or ditches) of the brain, where anatomical nomenclature
places the “calamus scriptorius”—near the center that controls
breath: These are characteristic Celanian premises: the stone in the
head, the stab-wound in the throat, words that hurt. Stich4 is stab in
German, but it means a line of verse in Russian (Celan jocoseriously
referred to himself as a Russian poet in the realm of German infi-
dels). In German, the word for letter (the letter of a word) is Buch-
stab (book-staff). The Runic sticks and stones that hurtle across
these networks of etymology and morphology are dear, in every
sense, to a Celanian temperament: As a poet-philosopher, he suffers
the materiality of language; as a son and husband and father, he suf-
fers the dematerializations of love. Through the polyglot exile’s sev-
eral homes (German, Rumanian, Russian, French, and English)
wander many ghost-guests and gists. They amount to a memory, and
morphology, of meaning.
Even in the strictest technical vocabularies he frequents, Celan
favors those concerned with seeing things through, or seeing
through them: He is attracted to the lensgrinder’s craft (perhaps be-
cause of Spinoza), and to the realms of X-ray technicians (a ghostly
science if ever there was one). What happens to the metaphysician
after Dachau is a famous question. What happens to the physician
4. From the Greek stikhos; hence “distich” and other prosodic terms of
Greek origin.
xvii
after Mengele is not so often asked. But it is that question that drives
the closer to the heart of Celan’s excruciations. He’s a serious sensu-
alist, in whose hands spirit’s question must be retooled for ever
more exquisite senses of sense, ever more painful instrumentalities.
However fundamentally mental may be Celan’s vertiginous moves
across space and time, he’s never any the less fascinated by the ma-
terial markers of the moved mind: its Doppler effects and red shifts.
Suffering has a cerebral cortex; the grim reaper sports a brain man-
tle. Grau means gray, in German; but Grauen means horror.
“Acephalic by choice” he calls the Thou-less tribe. His outcry is
of inwit, a nightmare’s EEG. God’s rod and staff, far from being a
comfort, are rather (like retinal structures and letter-formations)
made to make us see: see with the mind’s eye, if no other—the same
eye, says Meister Eckhart, through which God sees us. The infinite
sands come to be ground through the hourglass; where time is con-
tained, it also runs out. The watch-crystal gives its name to a form of
quaking bog; the message in the bottle is stoppered; the wind-rose
(a compass at sea) is disoriented. Under glass, the eye looks back: It
sees that it cannot see. “Right away, / the teardrop took shape—.”
“Your destination the one / precise crystal.”
Paul Celan died by drowning. He did it not just reflexively, but
transitively: He died by drowning himself. As figures of flotation and
immersion recur throughout the poems, particularly those that refer
to writing, it is natural that—like so much else in the Celanian leg-
end—those figures come to seem fatefully proleptic. (As subjects and
objects of our own regards, readers and writers of our own lives, we
hold out as long as we can—like “dreamproof tugs—each / with a
vulture-claw / towing a part / of the still- /unsunken sign.”) Paul
Celan’s attraction for readers today may be deeply ideogrammatical:
He made himself a glancing stroke, a winking wave, withdrawal’s
sign. As waters rise toward iris-level, as the eye-globe is covered, a
greatening force of mind informs the sensual field. In the face of
grief, in the light of death, in the vale of tears, what does intellect
do? Of sinking things, thinking sings.
h m, n p
Seattle, 1999
xviii
Paul Celan: Glottal Stop page xix
glottal stop
Paul Celan: Glottal Stop page xx blank
Paul Celan: Glottal Stop page 1
* * *
* * *
* * *
1
Paul Celan: Glottal Stop page 2
* * *
Jacob’s voice:
The tears.
Tears in the eye of my brother.
One clung. It grew.
We live in there.
Now, breathe—
so it may
fall.
* * *
2
Paul Celan: Glottal Stop page 3
Only
the mouths
were saved. Hear us,
o sinking things.
* * *
No
voice—
late noise, stranger to the hour,
gift to your thoughts, born of
wakefulness here in the final
account: a
carpel, large as an eye, and deeply
scored: bleeds
sap, and won’t
heal over.
3
Paul Celan: Glottal Stop page 4
Summer Report
4
Paul Celan: Glottal Stop page 5
5
Paul Celan: Glottal Stop page 6
Threesome, Foursome
6
Paul Celan: Glottal Stop page 7
Erratic
Evenings delve
into your eye. Lip-
picked syllables—
a lovely voiceless circle—
help the creeping star
into their ring. The stone, once
close to the temporal zones, now opens up:
7
Paul Celan: Glottal Stop page 8
Hand-
like, shadowy,
it showed up with
the blades of grass:
8
Paul Celan: Glottal Stop page 9
cise
this one’s
word, write
the living
nothing-
ness into
this one’s
heart, spread
this one’s
two crippled fingers into a healer’s
benediction.
This one’s.
9
Paul Celan: Glottal Stop page 10
. . . . . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . . . . .
10
Paul Celan: Glottal Stop page 11
Flung wood
on the windpipe’s path,
so it goes, wing-
powered,
true,
taking off
along star-trails, kissed
by world-
shards, scarred
by time-
grains, time-dust,
your orphan sibling, lapilli, turned
dwarf, turned tiny, turned
to nothing,
gone away and done away, self-
rhyme—
and so it comes
back home,
in its turn re-
turns, to
hover on
a heartbeat, one
millennium, the only
hand on the dial
that one
soul—its own soul—
described, that
one
soul numbers
now.
11
Paul Celan: Glottal Stop page 12
12
Paul Celan: Glottal Stop page 13
Forgotten things
grasped at things to be forgotten,
earthparts, heartparts
swam,
they sank and swam. Columbus,
mind-
ful of the immortelle, the mother-
flower,
murdered mast and sail. And all put out to sea,
13
Paul Celan: Glottal Stop page 14
exploratory,
free,
and the wind-rose faded, shed
its leaves, and an ocean
flowered into shape and sight, in the blacklight
of a compass gone berserk. In coffins,
urns, canopies
the children woke up—
Jasper, Agate and Amethyst—nations,
tribes and kinfolk, a blind
let there be
14
Paul Celan: Glottal Stop page 15
La Contrescarpe
anyone
hope
trundles up and down
Heart-Hump Road
must pay this toll—any-
one
at the turning-point
where he faces the spike of bread
that has drunk up the wine of his night, misery’s
wine, wine of the king’s
wakefulness.
15
Paul Celan: Glottal Stop page 16
O this friend-
making. And yet, again,
you know your destination—the one
precise
crystal.
16
Paul Celan: Glottal Stop page 17
completely stripped.
Upstream swimmer, woman, you alone
number them each, you touch them all.
17
Paul Celan: Glottal Stop page 18
Gray-white of sheer
excavated
feeling.
Beach-grasses scattered
here inland
blow sand patterns over
the smoke of wellside songs.
18
Paul Celan: Glottal Stop page 19
19
Paul Celan: Glottal Stop page 20
Singable remainder—trace
of one who—mute,
remote—broke out of bounds
through sicklescripts of snow.
20
Paul Celan: Glottal Stop page 21
Flooding big-
celled sleepyard.
21
Paul Celan: Glottal Stop page 22
22
Paul Celan: Glottal Stop page 23
Words in blood-bloom
throng before his feelers.
23
Paul Celan: Glottal Stop page 24
At high noon, in
a humming of seconds,
to the round grave’s shadow where I lie
already in my chambered pain
you come—for two days
of ochre and red
I spirited you off
to Rome with me
—sliding over thresholds, leveled, bright:
of a mystery
I could muster still, in all’s despite.
24
Paul Celan: Glottal Stop page 25
25
Paul Celan: Glottal Stop page 26
horizons of salt
rose in our eyes, far out
in the abyss where a mountain was forming,
my world was calling yours
its own, forever.
26
Paul Celan: Glottal Stop page 27
27
Paul Celan: Glottal Stop page 28
Half-mauled, mask-
faced, a corbel-stone
deep
in the eyeslit-crypt:
28
Paul Celan: Glottal Stop page 29
Even sadness,
your starry-eyed
gypsy, knows this place.
29
Paul Celan: Glottal Stop page 30
30
Paul Celan: Glottal Stop page 31
flashes of punctuation
crystallize
at your wrist,
there, at
the sacrificial bush
where memory flares up,
you two are taken
in One breath.
31
Paul Celan: Glottal Stop page 32
Crackpots, decomposing
deeps.
If I were—
well, yes, if
I were that ash tree—bent
which way?—outside
I’d be able to
go along with you,
bright pan of gray, you and
the image growing through you
only at once to be
choked down,
and the two of you
caught
in the flashy, tight-drawn
noose of thought.
32
Paul Celan: Glottal Stop page 33
Lichtenberg’s heir-
loom: twelve
nap-
kins and a tablecloth:
a celestial salute
to the ring
of fast
fading language
towers
inside the sign
zone.
All
—there’s no heaven, no
earth, and the memory of both
is blotted out
down to one blue nut-
hatch trusting in the ash tree—
he had:
a white comet
picked up from the city ramparts.
A glottis, a voicecrack,
keeps it
in the uni-
verse.
33
Short
Paul Celan: Glottal Stop page 34
34
Paul Celan: Glottal Stop page 35
—you, wave,
carried it here, sharpened it,
you, Un-
losable One, gave yourself to it,
you, beach-sand, are the taker,
partaker,
you, shore-grass, drift
your share—
35
Paul Celan: Glottal Stop page 36
Gurgling, then
vegetating quiet on the riverbanks.
36
Paul Celan: Glottal Stop page 37
Frankfurt, September
Blind wall-space,
bearded by brilliances.
A dream of a cockchafer
sheds light on it.
the tear
compacted of silence
breaks out in a proposition:
“Psycho-
logy for the last
time.”
The pseudo-jackdaw
(cough-caw’s double)
is breakfasting.
37
Paul Celan: Glottal Stop page 38
38
Paul Celan: Glottal Stop page 39
Who
rules?
The clock
wastes time with the comet,
the knights
are anglers,
names
cover frauds with gold-leaf,
the hooded jewelweed
numbers the dots in the stone.
Diaphanous, black,
the juggler’s pennant
is at its
lowest point.
39
Paul Celan: Glottal Stop page 40
selah,
40
Paul Celan: Glottal Stop page 41
Night in Pau
Henry IV rocking
in the royal tortoiseshell cradle:
immortality’s number.
In its wake, it made
an eleatic mocking.
41
Paul Celan: Glottal Stop page 42
Later in Pau
after
the Waterlooplein market,
I’m singing of you
to the unmatched
canvas shoe, to the
Amen that gets hawked off with it,
in the lot
that’s vacant for eternity; singing
you away:
42
Paul Celan: Glottal Stop page 43
Heaved to heart-height,
my son,
the law wins.
43
Paul Celan: Glottal Stop page 44
Now,
the thrown dice of your glances
waken your neighbor,
she gets heavier
and heavier.
One
String
stretches its pain under you both.
44
Paul Celan: Glottal Stop page 45
Sleep-pieces, wedges
driven into nowhere:
we remain constant,
steered round,
the star
concurs.
45
Paul Celan: Glottal Stop page 46
Attached to out-cast
dream relics, Truth
comes down, a child,
over the ridge.
In the valley,
buzzed-about by
clods of earth,
by spray of scree,
by seeds of eye,
the crutch
leafs through the
No that blooms
crown-high.
46
Paul Celan: Glottal Stop page 47
Graygreens
from nearby water-shafts
dug out by unawakened hands:
the depths
yield up their growth
without resistance,
without a sound.
Save it,
before
the Stone Day has blown dry
the swarms of men
and beasts, just
as the seven-reed flute mandates,
in front of mouth and muzzle.
47
Paul Celan: Glottal Stop page 48
Chitin sunlings,
newly hatched.
Armored amphibians
wrap themselves up
in blue prayer-shawls, the sand-
dependent gull calls out in the
affirmative, the furtive
fire-leaf
thinks things over.
48
Paul Celan: Glottal Stop page 49
Eternities dead
and gone,
a letter touches
your still-un-
injured fingers,
a shining countenance
comes somersaulting in
and touches down in
smells, sounds.
49
Paul Celan: Glottal Stop page 50
Hothouse of an asylum
emptied out by
prayers;
pretty little saxifrage
growing in the
grouting;
a glazed look
dozes through
the half-opened
door;
an over-
aged syllable comes
gangling in—
woken up,
the blind man’s cane
points out its place
behind the manes of the white horses.
50
Paul Celan: Glottal Stop page 51
Lucky, the
mummy-leap over the
mountain.
51
Paul Celan: Glottal Stop page 52
52
Paul Celan: Glottal Stop page 53
One secret
gets mixed into the word forever.
(Whosoever falls therefrom
rolls beneath a leafless tree.)
Audible-inaudible:
all the
shadow-stoppers
logging on
at all the
shadow-links.
53
Paul Celan: Glottal Stop page 54
Your milk-sister
a shovel.
54
Paul Celan: Glottal Stop page 55
55
Paul Celan: Glottal Stop page 56
Ashrei,
he,
foetal,
then the
Allemande
starts tatting
her im-
mortal self-sick
song.
56
Paul Celan: Glottal Stop page 57
Gigantic,
trackless, tree-
studded
hand-
tract,
Quincunx.
57
Paul Celan: Glottal Stop page 58
58
Paul Celan: Glottal Stop page 59
59
Paul Celan: Glottal Stop page 60
60
Paul Celan: Glottal Stop page 61
61
Paul Celan: Glottal Stop page 62
62
Paul Celan: Glottal Stop page 63
63
Paul Celan: Glottal Stop page 64
a nose-heavy
stunt-happy cloud
carries us above it
and away.
64
Paul Celan: Glottal Stop page 65
65
Paul Celan: Glottal Stop page 66
66
Paul Celan: Glottal Stop page 67
67
Paul Celan: Glottal Stop page 68
Next-door-neighbor Night.
Dwarf or giant-sized—it all
depends on the cut in the fingerpad,
on what
comes out of it.
At times super-eyed
when biconcave
a thought, out of elsewhere,
comes dripping in.
68
Paul Celan: Glottal Stop page 69
69
Paul Celan: Glottal Stop page 70
70
Paul Celan: Glottal Stop page 71
71
Paul Celan: Glottal Stop page 72
72
Paul Celan: Glottal Stop page 73
Michael muck-mouthed,
Gabriel mire-gagged,
73
Paul Celan: Glottal Stop page 74
Pulled up on shore
by the whitest root of
the whitest tree.
74
Paul Celan: Glottal Stop page 75
75
Paul Celan: Glottal Stop page 76
76
Paul Celan: Glottal Stop page 77
The shark
spat out the live Inca.
77
Paul Celan: Glottal Stop page 78
78
Paul Celan: Glottal Stop page 79
Haut Mal
O irredeemable
beloved, sleep-attacked,
tainted by the gods:
like myself,
you use
foul language;
consecrate
my cock.
79
Paul Celan: Glottal Stop page 80
a place
to test the one-
of-a-kind chest
pain, revealing
the future, blithe
as a fiber of steel.
80
Paul Celan: Glottal Stop page 81
81
Paul Celan: Glottal Stop page 82
82
Paul Celan: Glottal Stop page 83
Audio-visual vestiges in
sleep ward 1001.
you’ll be
a him
again.
83
Paul Celan: Glottal Stop page 84
Knock out
the chocks of light:
84
Paul Celan: Glottal Stop page 85
Eternities swept
over his face and
onward.
85
Paul Celan: Glottal Stop page 86
distance,
O you
hand of glances.
86
Paul Celan: Glottal Stop page 87
Degenerate
goddess:
spindly-limbed,
friend of grief,
87
Paul Celan: Glottal Stop page 88
Assembly-
line facility:
Soul-welding, arc-light.
In their cases,
the lovely rhymy metal bellows
are being given
artificial respiration.
88
Paul Celan: Glottal Stop page 89
Weather hand—
the bog puddle shows it the way
through the dark paludal wood.
Luminescence.
89
Paul Celan: Glottal Stop page 90
Nightsources, distant
destination-points
on god watch,
90
Paul Celan: Glottal Stop page 91
unwashed, unpainted,
in the shafthead
of the beyond where
a
conveyor
running late
passes through us, through the cloud scatter,
up and down, up and down—
inside is insurgent
whistling, mischief
afoot—
91
Paul Celan: Glottal Stop page 92
92
Paul Celan: Glottal Stop page 93
93
Paul Celan: Glottal Stop page 94
I gave a chance
to your, even to your,
false-rung shade,
I lapidated it with my
true-shaded, true-
rung self—a
six-point star.
Today,
take quiet where you wish.
Trashing time’s
dishonored things, taking
no heart, I, even I, am already
going home, out into the street,
into the stony many.
94
Paul Celan: Glottal Stop page 95
sharpsighted,
the astral
weapon
with its stock of memory
salutes
the
lions of its thought.
95
Paul Celan: Glottal Stop page 96
96
Paul Celan: Glottal Stop page 97
unoccupiable
I and you, too,
superveri-
fied
the eye-greedy
memory-greedy
rolling
brand-
name,
97
Paul Celan: Glottal Stop page 98
Out of the
drainage ditch
a menorah of mullein stands up.
98
Paul Celan: Glottal Stop page 99
In karst caverns
what is lost gains
rarity, clarity.
99
Paul Celan: Glottal Stop page 100
jubilee leap-
years,
100
Paul Celan: Glottal Stop page 101
seeing-aid, layer-streaked,
over the moon-touched
backscatter probes. Macroscale: microscale.
Terrestrial, terrestrial.
101
Paul Celan: Glottal Stop page 102
a flapping
occipital lobe, a
glimpse of the sea,
is hoisting, right where you live,
its un-
conquerable
capital.
102
Paul Celan: Glottal Stop page 103
and ahead
in the cantonment areas
where they’re spraying wellness agents,
mild melodic antidotes
signal
the final sprint
through your conscience.
103
Paul Celan: Glottal Stop page 104
hesitating
at the bend’s levee,
massive
absence of windows
over there,
take a look,
that pile
of idle supplications,
one
buttstock blow away
from the prayer-silos,
104
Paul Celan: Glottal Stop page 105
sleeping unmonitored
under its sand-cap,
your brain
steers its way
through the one
unforfeitable
oceanic
day,
105
Paul Celan: Glottal Stop page 106
We’re ready
to trade away our mortal inmost.
No reply—the thorn
climbs up through the cradles.
106
Paul Celan: Glottal Stop page 107
Curve a face
that there may be speech, of earth,
of ardor, of
things with eyes, even
here, where you read me blind,
even
here,
where you
refute me,
to the letter.
107
Paul Celan: Glottal Stop page 108
surmount
the manifold of meanings,
108
Paul Celan: Glottal Stop page 109
notes
110
Paul Celan: Glottal Stop page 111
111
Paul Celan: Glottal Stop page 112
112
Paul Celan: Glottal Stop page 113
113
Paul Celan: Glottal Stop page 114
The poem declares its ontological search with its very first words.
German Es gab (“it gave”) is also the idiom for the gift of being, a
dative dynamic missing from the English “there was.”
The flower of Columbus’s quest is the Colchicum autumnale (er-
roneously known, in English, as the autumn crocus), a flower with
an emblematic presence in Celan, on account of its poetic genealogy
and suggestive Latin and German names. Colchinium comes from
Colchis, the mythical land of the Golden Fleece, and was associated
with the black arts of its princess, Medea (it contains a poisonous al-
kaloid); later, the troubadours associated it with the menace of the
Lady’s eyes; in modern times, Apollinaire, whose poetry Celan cher-
ished and translated, revived the legend in “Les Colchiques.” The
German name of the colchinium means, literally, “timeless” (hence
its importance in a poem that explores history’s beginnings and
ends); it is also known as the “Naked Whore” and “Naked Virgin”
(both latent in connection with Columbus). As an ambiguous em-
blem of the entire European poetic tradition, the colchinium reflects
Celan’s own ambivalence vis-`a-vis what he inherits and is outcast
from. Just a few lines later Celan explores—indeed, deflowers, re-
flowers—the anagogic Rosa Mundi. To capture some of the reso-
nances in Celan’s poem, we used another (unfortunately, innocent)
flower, the immortelle, hoping that the markers of time, death, and
privation/loss (todlos—Zeitlose; deathless—immortelle) will thicken
the translation’s texture in a manner suggestive of the original’s
richness.
At midpoint Celan constructs a complex spatio-temporal figure,
conflating rose season (fall) and time of day (nightfall). Further-
more, taking advantage of the term “wind-rose” (the face of the
compass), Celan projects an image of complete loss of orientation:
The wind-rose has lost its points/petals, become black/blank, so the
instrument of orientation is unruly and useless. And yet the burst of
nightbloom is a luminous dawn. Black light is, after all, a light, a
contralight (backlight)—the light of letters? As the poem’s further
progress indicates, this nautico-stellar wordscape recalls Mallarmé’s
Master, the Septentrion above his shipwrecked head, but Celan
doesn’t seem content with the ironic consolations of constellar art.
The precious stones that follow the imagery of new day refract a
variety of Judeo-Christian visionary texts and ancient rituals (Egyp-
tian burial practices); for example, in Revelations 21, the New Jeru-
salem has twelve foundations of precious stone, each kind of stone
corresponding to one of the twelve tribes. But for Celan the Apoca-
lypse (Auschwitz, the end of time) has already occurred; the annihi-
114
Paul Celan: Glottal Stop page 115
lation that makes his poetry possible also makes meaning well im-
possible—casts a shadow on any attempt to articulate a new world
vision.
The last lines of the original perform a characteristic Celanian
stutter, spelling—and stumbling at—the incommensurability between
pain and articulable language. Pain (a word conspicuously absent
from the body of the poem) gnaws away at the ends and means of
poetic inscription—even as it constitutes (spells) the poem’s condi-
tion of (im)possibility. In German this stutter (buch-, buch-, buch- /
stabierte, stabierte) follows the bimorphemic structure of the verb
buchstabieren (from Buch-stab, “letter”), which means “to spell.”
The ending also recalls Mallarmé’s puns “l’alphabet des astres” (in
“Quant au livre”), the “alphabet of stars,” which sounds like “al-
phabet disastre,” and “sur les cendres des astres” (in “Igitur”). The
density of self-reference and language involution in the poem’s fi-
nale suggested a number of parographic possibilities (e.g., a litter of
little alphabeasts in the alphabyss), but the question was to find a
rendition in tune with Celan’s pain-ful economy.
Page 15: la contrescarpe
Taking its title from Place de la Contrescarpe, Paris (Celan’s ulti-
mate station of exile), the poem recalls the public and private calen-
dars of the poet’s life story. As the foreign title indicates, it is
“about” the experience of being translated and dwelling in transla-
tion, a narrative struggling to make meaningful a foreign name,
place of exile. (Cp. Merrill’s “Lost in Translation.”)
Celan’s first trip to France (to study medicine) took place in
1938; by a fateful coincidence, his train stopped at Anhalter Station,
Berlin, on the morning after Kristallnacht (November 9/10, 1938),
which saw Nazi-led pogroms of Jewish synagogues, businesses,
schools, and homes throughout Germany. Nine years later—a Holo-
caust later, a hiatus of time history cannot recuperate but must not
be allowed to forget—in 1948, Celan will arrive at Place de la Con-
trescarpe again. The poem seems to center on a Fourteenth of July
(1948), from which it counts back nine years (nine other July
14th’s), to Celan’s first journey to France, and forward through four-
teen years of exile in Paris. This series of private and painful July
14th’s may be Celan’s grimly ironic comment on the emancipatory
hopes aroused by the French Revolution (the series of its public an-
niversaries, after all, leads through many horrors all the way to the
Russian Revolution and then the Holocaust); or an equally grim re-
minder that today’s mindlessly festive crowd may turn, tomorrow,
to orgies of hatred and destruction; and that historical crimes are
115
Paul Celan: Glottal Stop page 116
116
Paul Celan: Glottal Stop page 117
117
Paul Celan: Glottal Stop page 118
118
Paul Celan: Glottal Stop page 119
119
Paul Celan: Glottal Stop page 120
120
Paul Celan: Glottal Stop page 121
Page 30: Noisemakers shoot into the light: it’s the Truth
The noise maker (Schwirrholz) that broaches this poem is an an-
cient device, used to invoke spirits’ voices; in English it’s sometimes
called “bullroarer,” but in English, noise-news (maker) affords an
irresistibly Celanian paronymy. (Its poetological significance was
noticed by Propertius: “Deficiunt magico torti sub carmine
rhombi.”)
The uncanny millennarian sheen in the middle stanza issues
from a neologism Celan coins out of the word “thousand” in Ger-
man—no doubt an echo of Hitler’s “tausendjähriges Reich”; how-
ever, in German “thousand” can be used to signify a vague but very
large numerical magnitude and hence as a curse word. The menace
of large numbers and the hints of ancient and contemporary tech-
nology in the poem gave rise to our “macro-mass.”
Page 31: You forget you forget
Turning, that is, re-troping, so-called termini technici into meta-
poetic figures is a move characteristic of Celan’s later manner. In
this case, earth science, human memory, and poetics are caught in
a vortex of metaphors: the poem’s point of departure is a literaliza-
tion (and thus a reversal) of a common process in the history and
uses of language: metaphor must “petrify”—be forgotten as meta-
phor—so it can serve as literal term. Conversely, in the end, all met-
aphor is consumed and the metaphor of metaphor (which cannot
be another metaphor or image) must vanish into the void (if you
will, the divine).
In the poem, a piece of once-articulated language (Ger. Spruch =
saying, dictum, maxim, motto, aphorism, quote from Scripture,
proverb, poem, etc.; cp. English- dict-) is defined as verkieselt: It has
become stone hard through absorption of silica—as in the case of
plants and animals buried by volcanic ash: Prevented from decay by
the ash, their material combines with silica picked up from the ash
by underground water; the result is a semiprecious gem. For Celan,
a “technical” description of this sort is nothing other than a descrip-
tion of memory and its response to catastrophic upheaval (with lan-
guage, the repository of memory).
As a piece of poiesis, this language “fossilized” (or silicified) into
“stone” (Stein) recalls—with polemic overtones—Heidegger’s medi-
tations on Being (Sein), Being’s forgottenness, and the forgetting of
Being’s forgottenness. The self-forgetful you, addressed in the poem,
should bring to mind Celan’s view of poetry as a forgetting of self.
Celan’s manuscripts show that the poem evolved around the
thought of a “sacrificial bush” (the burning bush, Moses, and the
121
Paul Celan: Glottal Stop page 122
122
Paul Celan: Glottal Stop page 123
ones,” niemtzy; during the war and in its aftermath one could often
hear the awful paronymy, nazi-niemtzy. Celan’s cardinal problem as
a poet in German was precisely what he called the German
language’s “terrifying silence” during the “thousand darknesses of
murderous speech” (Bremen-Speech).
Visually (with its slender columnar shape), grammatically (its
stack of broken syntax), and thematically (its emphasis on memory,
inheritance, affiliation, and transmission), Celan’s poem becomes
the beacon it calls into being—a tower of language on the verge of si-
lence. We have deliberately foregrounded, in our translation (in
other words) the poem’s translatorial self-consciousness.
Page 35: The sight of the songbirds at dusk
The “bird” in line 1 is the European blackbird, Ger. Amsel, close
anagrammatic relative of one of Celan’s original names, Ants-
chel/Ancel. (Celan no doubt knew the bird’s Latin name, Mimus
polyglottos—he was a polyglot parrot himself; from the Latin it’s a
stone’s throw to the name of the American mockingbird.) Unlike the
New World blackbird, the European blackbird is a songster (just as
the mockingbird is). Our version frames the poem in lyric rather
than ornithological terms (from “songbirds” to “the singing in our
fingers”) in order to emphasize the poetological self-reflection but
also because the word “black” in the English would contribute a
poetically unignorable element that Celan’s German does not. The
reader sensitive to poetic resonance will notice a deliberate prolep-
tic thickening in our vocabulary choices (e.g., “sight,” “ring,” and
“ungraphed” anticipate “weapons” ); in the wake of “weapons,”
“sight” (in “the sight of weapons”) has already lost its scenic inno-
cence. Such thickenings of texture, whenever the target language
provides them, are indispensable if one is to do justice to the ex-
traordinarily resonant language of Celan’s oeuvre.
Page 37: frankfurt, september
“Frankfurt, September” is a study in modern art’s origins, means,
and ends: On the one side, we encounter the institutions and avatars
of culture, interpretation, and commerce (the title points to the
international book fair in Frankfurt); on the other, one artist’s un-
sayable pain and privacy.
Freud, who is explicitly named, opens the show as a graven image
on a screen and as an apparatus of enlightenment, metonymically
displaced by his Cockchafer Dream (a.k.a. the May-beetle dream,
analyzed in the chapter on condensation in The Interpretation of
Dreams). The image of the insect gives us the first hint of Kafka
(whose transformed Gregor Samsa is once referred to, erroneously,
123
Paul Celan: Glottal Stop page 124
124
Paul Celan: Glottal Stop page 125
125
Paul Celan: Glottal Stop page 126
126
Paul Celan: Glottal Stop page 127
Celan was born on November 23, and often uses The Archer (Sagit-
tarius) as an emblem of his star-fated poetic intentions.
Page 46: Attached to out-cast
Morphemically, the German verb entäussern expresses a movement
of exteriorization, from inside to outside—which can be looked
upon as relinquishment or realization (as in some philosophical jar-
gons). Hence our attempt to slow down the perception of “out-cast”
by means of hyphenation. Aaron’s rod (Num. 17.8) budded,
bloomed, and yielded almonds. Has it been crossed here with a
crutch and/or with Mallarmé’s flower absent from all bouquets?
The poem’s (inverted) crown is, of course, its capitalized No, a
“no” that yields nothing to direct ontological questioning and yet
resonates with distant Celanian “determinations”; for example, his
127
Paul Celan: Glottal Stop page 128
128
Paul Celan: Glottal Stop page 129
129
Paul Celan: Glottal Stop page 130
130
Paul Celan: Glottal Stop page 131
131
Paul Celan: Glottal Stop page 132
132
Paul Celan: Glottal Stop page 133
133
Paul Celan: Glottal Stop page 134
From its very title, the poem behaves as a polylogue: Haut and
Mal are common German words (meaning “skin” and “mark,” re-
spectively) and, even though their juxtaposition results in a some-
what strained German, the poem that follows this title is in German;
the combination of Haut and Mal would recall other formations,
such as Denkmal (monument) and Muttermal (birthmark). So there
is almost as much incentive to construe the title in German as in
French. The head graphemes seem poised in nearly perfect unde-
cidability. (Consider further the ironic allusion to Ps. 119, “Blessed
are the undefiled.”)
The figure addressed in the poem—indeed, the figure of the
poem (subjective and objective genitive)—is gendered feminine in
the original. (Gender is ineliminable in the German nominal
system.) The reader is invited to decode this Sleeping Beauty’s
identity at his or her own discretion; we tend to see the figure not
as something out there the poem’s language refers to, but rather as
something that arises out of language and subsumes Celan’s
poetry as a whole. For example, the literal “your tongue is sooty”
invites a bilingual reading because German russig (ashen; sooty)
is, paronymically, extremely close to russisch (Russian), and it was
Celan himself who jocoseriously claimed he was a Russian poet
exiled among German infidels. “Bilious” in German is designated
with the word gallig, which suggests Celan’s language of domicile,
French.
If the poem’s head is divided between two languages, its last
word is inhabited by two graphemes: German Glied (member) con-
tains the grapheme Lied (song). In a poem that deserves to be
named Celan’s Song of Songs (formally, “Haut Mal” resembles the
wasf, the sequential imagistic description-praise of the beloved’s
body, as in Song of Solomon 4.1f and 6.14f), this paronymy could
134
Paul Celan: Glottal Stop page 135
135
Paul Celan: Glottal Stop page 136
Waise, orphan, is homophonic with Weise, wise man; Stein der Wei-
sen is German for the philosopher’s stone.
Page 87: Degenerate / Verworfene (2, 290)
Celan’s very early sheaf of adages Gegenlicht (contre-jour, back-
light) shows that his postwar poetic career began with an explora-
tion of contrariety and inversion that led him farther and farther
into negativity without return: neither a simple inversion into the
opposite, nor a dialectical negation of negation. The end of this
poem (a figure of disfigurement? a reminder that poetry produces
figures that can’t be placed? that out of Auschwitz nothing can be
born but abortions?) precludes any final interpretive move.
Klose has established that the goddess in question was probably
“inspired” by Fabre’s account of the praying mantis; as a “signature
of sexuality” (the praying mantis preys, according to the myth, on its
male partner) the figure occurs in several of Celan’s late poems.
Page 88: Assembly-
It is no accident, perhaps, that Celan’s order of poems pairs a failed
creation (“Degenerate”) with a satire of creation mechanics (in this
poem, images of soul-healing are crossed with those of mantid-
hatching). Moving from techne’s products toward technology’s es-
sence, and from visible forms to the fabrication of forms of visibility,
the poem recalls Celan’s suspiciousness of art’s points and appoint-
ments (voiced in “The Meridian” and elsewhere.)
Page 89: Weather hand
Celan’s poetry of nature (to use a misnomer) is poised on the bor-
ders of the humanized and humanizable world (glaciers and ice-
fields, tundras and bogs, deserts and mudflats), just as his poetry of
language is poised on the borders of signification. In this case, sig-
nification is literally bogged down by polysemy and paronymy: Ger-
man Lache, puddle or pool, means also “mark(er)” or “tapping” (se-
creting resin); in this paludial land/skull-scape Lache won’t fail to
conjure up Leiche, corpse. Celan’s interest in bogs—one he shares
with the Irish poet Seamus Heaney—is related in part to the capac-
ity of bogs as uncanny natural memory, preserving bodies undecom-
posed. Our version highlights Celan’s interest in sound intricacies,
punning and paronymy (e.g. puddle-paludal-pedal). “Weather
hand” recalls the English “weather eye.”
Page 91: We always find ourselves
The initial poem in Celan’s collection Schneepart, “We always find
ourselves” is a poetic colon of sorts, a gathering up of motifs and
near self-citations from earlier poems (in particular, this poem can
be read as a rewriting of the initial poem in Die Niemandsrose: see
136
Paul Celan: Glottal Stop page 137
137
Paul Celan: Glottal Stop page 138
138
139
through) the other, but ordinary language (in this instance its pro-
nominal system) resists the rearticulation of that relationship; hence
the strangeness of the last lines. (This strangeness has inspired the
notion that the poem reads in German as if it were (already) a trans-
lation from the Hebrew, not only in terms of echoes and allusions
but in terms of its very grammar (Stadler). Such an exposure of the
lyric genre to several thousand years of translatorial history across
several languages (sacred and profane) proposes unfathomable
depths. Cf. Felstiner’s “Translating Paul Celan’s ‘Du sei wie du.’ ”)
Page 106: In the most remote of
Starting with the “stairway of amens,” several details in the poem al-
lude to Jacob’s dream of the ladder in Genesis 28 and beyond it to
the steps of the Temple in Jerusalem (as the end of the pilgrimage).
With its displacement of paralysis, from human body to sacred
ground, the poem questions the ability of secular humanity (Dasein)
to overcome its crisis of faith and climb into the holy; it also calls
into question its own language: The scale of paralyzed affirmations
is preceded by a scale of meaning, with Dasein being at the farthest
remove from meaning. The word “Supernothing” was coined by the
sixteenth-century mystic Angelus Silesius. Celan’s studies in nega-
tive theology have left many traces in his poetry.
Page 107: O little root of a dream
Metaphors of digging, mining, excavating, rooting, etc. are common
in Celan’s poetry and invariably have a self-reflexive linguistic di-
mension. In German, the earth-language connection rests on a pow-
erful anagram: Rede (speech)–Erde (earth). Mud was always in the
mouth.
In German, vom Blatt singen/lesen (lit. read from the sheet)
means “to sight-read.” Celan inverts the expression by adding
“blind” to the sheet/leaf (Blindblatt). Interestingly, the sheet/leaf
remains invisible (or blind) in the meaning of the idiom. The ambi-
guity of “you read me blind” is an attempt to suggest the self-
effacing quality of the original language.
Page 108: Don’t sign your name
This poem was published posthumously in Paul Celan, Eingedunkelt
und Gedichte aus dem Umkreis von Eingedunkelt, Hrsg. von Bertrand
Badiou und Jean-Claude Rambach. Suhrkamp: Frankfurt, 1991.
140
Paul Celan: Glottal Stop page 141
index of
english titles/first lines and
german titles/half titles
142
Paul Celan: Glottal Stop page 143
143
Paul Celan: Glottal Stop page 144
144
Paul Celan: Glottal Stop page 145
145
Paul Celan: Glottal Stop page 146
146
Paul Celan: Glottal Stop page 147