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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