foudebassan (foudebassan) wrote in gedichte, @ 2008-04-27 21:55:00 |
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Entry tags: | celan |
Paul Celan
(1920-1970)
Paul Ancel (pronounced « Antschel ») was born in Czenowitz – it was then in Romania and is now in Ukraine. As was not uncommon for Jewish young men from that part of the world, he left in 1938 to study medicine in France. In 1939 the war broke out and he couldn’t come back from his summer holidays, so he stayed home, continued his studies in Romania and started writing for antifascist publications. Czernowitz was invaded first by the Russians, then by the Nazis; his parents were deported to an extermination camp, where his mother was probably shot and where his father probably died of typhus. He was deported himself, but “only” to a concentration camp.
After the war he came back to Czernowitz (where he probably wrote the first draft of today’s Todesfuge) and moved to Bucarest after a while, but then managed to slip under the settling iron curtain in 1947 (via Hungary and Vienna, where his first poems, Sand aus den Urnen, were published amidst general indifference). He settled down in Paris from 1948 where he completed a degree in German literature and from 1959 onwards taught German literature at the ENs (the most selective of all French institutions of higher learning). To the best of my knowledge, no former student of his has (yet?) published a cleaned-up version of the notes they took in his classes, which is a pity. I’d pay good money to read that.
He had a rather passionate affair with fellow poet Ingeborg Bachmann. They even lived together for a while but couldn’t stand being in close proximity, so they split up (but remained friends – their correspondence is I believed published). He then met and married artist Gisèle de Lestrange, with whom he had a child, but then had to be interned in psychiatric asylums several times because he started running after her with a knife. They agreed to live separately after a while, but they nonetheless remained married and good friends.
In April 1970 he was reported missing, and his body was found in the Seine some ten days afterwards. It is presumed he killed himself.
He wrote a lot, including many many translations of poems into German. His own production includes Die Niemandrose; this is probably his best-know poem.
Todesfuge Schwarze Milch der Frühe wir trinken sie abends wir trinken sie mittags und morgens wir trinken sie nachts wir trinken und trinken wir schaufeln ein Grab in den Lüften da liegt man nicht eng Ein Mann wohnt im Haus der spielt mit den Schlangen der schreibt der schreibt wenn es dunkelt nach Deutschland dein goldenes Haar Margarete er schreibt es und tritt vor das Haus und es blitzen die Sterne er pfeift seine Rüden herbei er pfeift seine Juden hervor läßt schaufeln ein Grab in der Erde er befiehlt uns spielt auf nun zum Tanz Schwarze Milch der Frühe wir trinken dich nachts wir trinken dich morgens und mittags wir trinken dich abends wir trinken und trinken Ein Mann wohnt im Haus der spielt mit den Schlangen der schreibt der schreibt wenn es dunkelt nach Deutschland dein goldenes Haar Margarete Dein aschenes Haar Sulamith wir schaufeln ein Grab in den Lüften da liegt man nicht eng Er ruft stecht tiefer ins Erdreich ihr einen ihr andern singet und spielt er greift nach dem Eisen im Gurt er schwingts seine Augen sind blau stecht tiefer die Spaten ihr einen ihr andern spielt weiter zum Tanz auf Schwarze Milch der Frühe wir trinken dich nachts wir trinken dich mittags und morgens wir trinken dich abends wir trinken und trinken ein Mann wohnt im Haus dein goldenes Haar Margarete dein aschenes Haar Sulamith er spielt mit den Schlangen Er ruft spielt süßer den Tod der Tod ist ein Meister aus Deutschland er ruft streicht dunkler die Geigen dann steigt ihr als Rauch in die Luft dann habt ihr ein Grab in den Wolken da liegt man nicht eng Schwarze Milch der Frühe wir trinken dich nachts wir trinken dich mittags der Tod ist ein Meister aus Deutschland wir trinken dich abends und morgens wir trinken und trinken der Tod ist ein Meister aus Deutschland sein Auge ist blau er trifft dich mit bleierner Kugel er trifft dich genau ein Mann wohnt im Haus dein goldenes Haar Margarete er hetzt seine Rüden auf uns er schenkt uns ein Grab in der Luft er spielt mit den Schlangen und träumet der Tod ist ein Meister aus Deutschland dein goldenes Haar Margarete dein aschenes Haar Sulamith |
Death Fugue Black milk of dawn we drink it in the evenings we drink it noons and mornings we drink it at night we drink and drink we shovel a grave in the airs where it is not cramped to lie A man lives in the house who plays with the snakes who writes who writes when Germany darkens your golden hair Margarete he writes and walks to the front of the house and the stars sparkle like lightning he whistles for his hounds to come to his side he whistles for his Jews (1) to come before him he has them dig a grave in the earth he orders us play now to the dance Black milk of dawn we drink you at night we drink you mornings and noons we drink you in the evenings we drink and drink A man lives in the house who plays with the snakes who writes who writes when Germany darkens your golden hair Margarete Your ashen hair Sulamith we shovel a grave in the airs where it is not cramped to lie He cries stab deeper into the soil you here you there sing and dance he reaches for the iron (2) in his belt he swings it his eyes are blue stab deeper into the soil you here you there go on playing for the dance Black milk of dawn we drink you in the nights we drink you noons and mornings we drink you in the evenings we drink and drink A man lives in the house your golden hair Margarete your ashen hair Sulamith he plays with the snakes He cries play death more sweetly death is a master that comes from Germany he cries caress the violin more darkly then you’ll climb up in the air as smoke then you’ll have a grave in the clouds where is it not cramped to lie Black milk of dawn we drink you in the nights we drink you noons death is a master that comes from Germany we drink you in the evenings and mornings we drink and drink death is a master that comes from Germany his eye is blue he shoots you with a leaden bullet he shoots you and hits the bull’s eye (3) a man lives in the house your golden hair Margarete he sets his hounds on us and gives us a grave in the air he plays with the snakes and dreams death is a master that comes from Germany your golden hair Margarete your ashen hair Sulamith |