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More poems by Paul CelanPaul Celan | Print this page.Print | View and Write CommentsComments (3) | Books by Paul CelanBooks by Paul Celan

Death Fugue

Paul Celan

Black milk of daybreak we drink it at sundown
we drink it at noon in the morning we drink it at night
we drink it and drink it
we dig a grave in the breezes there one lies unconfined
A man lives in the house he plays with the serpents
     he writes
he writes when dusk falls to Germany your golden
     hair Margarete
he writes it ans steps out of doors and the stars are
     flashing he whistles his pack out
he whistles his Jews out in earth has them dig for a
     grave
he commands us strike up for the dance

Black milk of daybreak we drink you at night
we drink you in the morning at noon we drink you at
     sundown
we drink and we drink you
A man lives in the house he plays with the serpents
     he writes
he writes when dusk falls to Germany your golden hair
     Margarete
your ashen hair Sulamith we dig a grave in the breezes
     there one lies unconfined

He calls out jab deeper into the earth you lot you
     others sing now and play
he grabs at teh iron in his belt he waves it his
     eyes are blue
jab deper you lot with your spades you others play
     on for the dance

Black milk of daybreak we drink you at night
we drink you at at noon in the morning we drink you
     at sundown
we drink and we drink you
a man lives in the house your golden hair Margarete
your ashen hair Sulamith he plays with the serpents
He calls out more sweetly play death death is a master
     from Germany
he calls out more darkly now stroke your strings then
     as smoke you will rise into air
then a grave you will have in the clouds there one
     lies unconfined

Black milk of daybreak we drink you at night
we drink you at noon death is a master from Germany
we drink you at sundown and in the morning we drink
     and we drink you
death is a master from Germany his eyes are blue
he strikes you with leaden bullets his aim is true
a man lives in the house your golden hair Margarete
he sets his pack on to us he grants us a grave in
     the air
He plays with the serpents and daydreams death is
     a master from Germany

your golden hair Margarete
your ashen hair Shulamith


Translated by Michael Hamburger

Anonymous submission.

Added: 24 Jun 2002 | Last Read: 26 Apr 2018 5:26 PM | Viewed: 12987 times

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URL: http://plagiarist.com/poetry/4819/ | Viewed on 26 April 2018.
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