Black By Paul Celan Translated
By Pierre Joris
Black,
like the memory-wound,
the eyes dig toward you
in the by heart-teeth light-
bitten crownland,
that remains our bed:
through this shaft you have to come—
you come.
In seed-
sense
the sea stars you out, innermost, forever.
The namegiving has an end,
over you I cast my lot.
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