Those Winter Sundays -- Sundays too my father got up early
and put his clothes on in the blueblack cold,
then with cracked hands that ached
from labor in the weekday weather made
banked fires blaze. No one ever thanked him.
Threadsuns
By Paul Celan
Translated By Pierre Joris
Threadsuns
above the grayblack wastes.
A tree-
high thought
grasps the light-tone: there are
still songs to sing beyond
mankind.
A Shield of Steel, A Heart of Gold,
A woman stands, her voice so bold,
When shadows fall, and doubt takes hold,
She'll face the storm, a story told.
With eyes that gleam, a steady gaze,
She'll speak her truth in fearless ways,
No matter who…
To the girl with the beautiful eyes
There is a beauty unbound within you
A muse to my poetic verse
A song inside the silence
Something special as yet unearthed
I see a warmth and loving soul
I see a…
Lady in tow with two; two parents nearby.
Little girl stands next to me with her eyes white/gold glowing. See and feel it first and look up in astonishment.
Look left and notice her looking up at me with hands…
is another kind of path.
I follow its edges,
one foot on each side,
straddling no and yes.
Can a boundary be traversed
like the border of a country,
proving how grave a line can be?
Do…