“With wine and being lost, with less and less of both: I rode through the snow, do you read me I rode God far--I rode God near, he sang, it was our last ride over the hurdled humans. They cowered when they heard us overhead, they wrote, they lied our neighing into one of their image-ridden languages.” HumansLastsLostLanguageHeardWineSnowLiedOverhead Book:Glottal Stop: 101 Poems by Paul Celan Source: Glottal Stop: 101 Poems by Paul Celan
“How you die out in me: down to the last worn-out knot of breath you're there, with a splinter of life.” LastsDiesBreathsWornKnotsWorn OutSplinters Book:Paul Celan: poems Source: Paul Celan: poems
