Poem – When You Lie – Paul Celan

When you lie 

in the Bed of lost Flag-Cloth, 

with blue-black Syllables, in Snow-Eyelash-Shadow, 

the Crane through Thought- 


comes gliding, steely- 

you open for him. 
His beak ticks the Hour for you 

at every Mouth – at every 

bell-stroke, with red-hot Rope, a Silent- 


Un-Pulse and Pulse 

mint each other to death, 

the Dollars, the Cents, 

rain hard through your Pores, 



you fly there and bar 

the Doors Yesterday and Tomorrow – phosphorescent, 


buds the one, and buds the 

other breast, 

towards the Grasping, under 

the Thrusts –: so thick, 

so deeply 


the starry 



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