Poems referring to Paul Celan’s poetry by Germain Droogenbroodt
English translation in collaboration with Stanley Barkan
Spanish translation in collaboration with Rafael Carcelén
French translation by Elisabeth Gerlache
Nighttime
at the eastern window
the tiny wandering figure of emotion
now appears to him
—Paul Celan
Along the branches of the trees
the darkness ascends now,
and the evening,
dying a thousand deaths
condenses into night
adorning with its black veil
the twinkling light,
the shards of the day.
At the window of my room
as vain beacon burns—
the electric light.
from: “Palpable Absence”
Tiempo de la noche
en la ventana de Oriente
se asoma al tiempo de la noche la estrecha
silueta caminante del sentimiento
Paul Celan
Por las ramas de los árboles
sube ahora la oscuridad,
y la tarde, muriendo mil muertes,
se condensa en noche,
adorna su vela negra
con luces titilantes:
fragmentos de día.
En la ventana de mi cuarto
prende, cual faro inútil,
la luz eléctrica.
de “Palpable como la ausencia”
Nachttijd
am östlichen Fenster
erscheint ihm zur Nachtzeit die schmale
Wandergestalt des Gefühls
Paul Celan
Langs het takwerk der bomen
klimt nu omhoog het duister,
en de avond,
die duizend doden sterft,
verdicht nu tot nacht
die haar zwarte sluier siert
met tintellicht:
de scherven van de dag.
In het venster van mijn kamer
brandt als vergeefse baken
het elektrisch licht.
Uit: “Tastbare afwezigheid”
Temps de nuit
à la fenêtre orientale
lui apparait pendant la nuit l’étroite
figure errante du sentiment
Paul Celan
La figure errante du sentiment
Le long des branches d’arbres
grimpe à présent l’obscurité,
et le soir,
mourant de mille morts,
s’épaissit jusqu’à la nuit
qui orne son voile noir
de lumières scintillantes :
les éclats du jour.
A la lumière de ma chambre
brûle tel un phare inutile
la lumière électrique.
Nighthorn
for Paul Celan
Full moon
strangling light
on the black water
of the lake
magic circle
where mosquitoes dance
the ghosts of deceased poets
following the nighthorn’s call
lost in the haze.
From “Do you know the Country?, Meditations at Lake Como”
Sirena de la noche
a Paul Celan
Luna llena
estrangulante luz
sobre el agua negra del lago.
Círculo mágico
donde, como mosquitos,
las almas de los poetas muertos danzan
siguiendo el reclamo
de la sirena de la noche,
perdidos en la niebla.
Nachthoorn
voor Paul Celan
Volle maan
worglicht
op het zwarte water
van het meer
tovercirkel
waarin als muggen
de geesten der gestorven dichters dansen
de lokroep
van de nachthoorn volgend
in de nevel verdwaald.
Uit “Ken je het land?, Meditaties aan het Comomeer”
Cor de nuit
à Paul Celan
Pleine lune
lumière étouffante
sur l’eau noire
du lac
cercle magique
où tels des moustiques
danse l’esprit des poètes décédés
suivant l’appel
du cor de nuit
perdu dans la brume.
As One Knows . . .
When the night wrecked its forest . . .
Paul Celan
As one knows
an underground river
isn’t visible but is still there
so he knows
how the defenseless body
leaks out its life and destroys itself
—exactly at this moment
when life seems easier
than ever before.
Como se sabe…
Cuando la noche destrozaba sus bosques…
Paul Celan
Como se sabe
que un río subterráneo
no es visible y sin embargo existe
él sabe
que indefenso el cuerpo
vierte y destruye su vida
precisamente ahora
que vivir sería tan sencillo
como nunca antes.
De “Conversación con el más allá”
Zoals men weet…
Als die Nacht ihre Wälder verheerte…
Paul Celan
Zoals men weet
dat een onderaardse rivier
niet zichtbaar is en niettemin bestaat
weet hij
hoe weerloos het lichaam
zijn leven uitstort en vernielt
precies op dit moment
nu leven zo eenvoudig lijkt
als nooit voorheen.
Uit: “Gesprek met de overkant”
Comme on sait…
Quand la nuit détruisait ses bois…
Paul Celan
Comme on sait
qu’une rivière souterraine
n’est pas visible et pourtant existe
il sait
combien le corps sans défense
déverse et dévaste sa vie
au moment précis
où vivre paraît à présent si simple
comme jamais auparavant.
Thorn or Rose
Everything is in the mandorla
Paul Celan
The twilight
displaces the borders of light
invisible now
the stumbling stone
thorn of rose gables the night
with the driftwood and shells
charcoal glow in the heart
reading with caressing fingers
the yellowed images of olden days
From: “The Dewdrops of Dawn”, Poems 1984-2012
Espina o rosa
Todo está en la mandorla
Paul Celan
El crepúsculo
desplaza los límites de la luz
invisible ahora
el escollo
espina o rosa, juega la noche sus dados
con pecios y caracolas
ardor de brasas candentes en el corazón
que con los dedos afables de antaño lee
imágenes amarillentas.
De “Desombrada luz”
Doorn of roos
Alles steht in der Mandel
Paul Celan
De avondval
verlegt de grenzen van het licht
onzichtbaar nu
de struikelsteen
doorn of roos dobbelt de nacht
met wrakhout en kinkhoorns
houtskoolgloed in het hart
dat met streelvingers van toen
vergeelde beelden leest.
Uit “Ontschaduwd licht”
Epine ou rose
Tout se trouve dans la mandorle
Paul Celan
Le crépuscule
déplace les frontières de la lumière
invisible à présent
l’écueil
épine ou rose, la nuit joue aux dés
avec épaves et coquillages
la chaleur de braises incandescentes au cœur
qui des doigts caressants de jadis
lit des images jaunies.
Voice
A voice, out of which
you take the drink.
Paul Celan
Star-drinking the moon-mouth
at the night’s vault
voice-goblet
quenching-drink for the low-tide
poppy-glow in the breakers
of the heart.
From “Unshadowed Light”
Voz
Una voz, de la que tú
sacas la bebida
Paul Celan
Estrella-bebiendo la boca de la luna
en la bóveda de la noche
caliz-de-voz
bebida que sacia para el reflujo
ardor-amapola en el rompiente
del corazón.
de “Desombrada luz”
Stem
Eine Stimme, aus dem du
den Trunk schöpfst
Paul Celan
Sterdrinkend de maanmond
in het nachtgewelf
Stembeker
lesdrank voor de ebbe
Papavergloed in de branding
van het hart.
Uit “Ontschaduwd licht”
Voix
Une voix, de laquelle tu
prends la boisson
Paul Celan
Buveuse d’étoiles la bouche de la lune
dans le ciel nocturne
Calice vocal
boisson apaisante pour le reflux
Flamboiement du pavot dans le ressac
du cœur.
When my Lip bleeds by the Language
for Paul Celan
The ice-wind tearsthe clockface
shadowy bends
the hands
razor-sharp
in the dawn’s glow—
the bird’s cry.
from: “In the Stream of Time, Meditations in the Himalayas”
CUANDO EL LABIO POR LAS PALABRAS ME SANGRA
para Paul Celan
El viento helado zarandea la esfera
inclina hacia la sombra
las agujas
Afilado
en el crepúsculo rojo
el grito del pájaro
ALS DIE LIPPE MIR BLUTET VOR SPRACHE
voor Paul Celan
De ijswind rukt aan het cijferblad
buigt schaduwgewijs
de wijzers om
vlijmscherp
in het avondrood
de vogelkreet.
Uit¨ In de stroom van de tijd, Meditaties in de Himalaya
Quand la lèvre saigne de la parole
à Paul Celan
Le vent de glace secoue le cadran
courbe vers l’ombre
les aiguilles.
Perçant
dans le soir qui flamboie
le cri d’un oiseau.
What Is More
Everything is less,
than it is. Everything is more . . .
Paul Celan
What the magpie of the night
with its black beak wrote
does the daybreak not repeat
the moonmouth closes
is swallowed down
airways cross
and erase the tracks
in the eye-lens
colors and forms turn up
slow unveiling
of the visible
which is more
than what it is.
From “In the Stream of Time, Meditatioin in the Himalayas””
Lo que es más
Todo es menos como,
lo es, todo es más
Paul Celan
Lo que la urraca de la noche
con su pico negro escribió
no lo repite el alba
la boca de la luna se cierra
es tragada
vías aéreas se cruzan
y borran las huellas
en la lentilla del ojo
surgen colores y formas
lento revelar
de lo visible
que es más
de lo que es.
De “En la corriente del tiempo” Meditaciones en el Himalaya”
Wat meer is
Alles ist weniger als,
es ist, alles ist mehr
Paul Celan
Wat de nachtekster
met haar zwarte snavel schreef
herhaalt de dageraad niet
de maanmond sluit zich
wordt opgeslokt
luchtwegen kruisen
en wissen de sporen uit
in de ooglens
duiken kleuren en vormen op
trage ontsluiering
van het zichtbare
dat meer is
dan wat het is.
uit “In de stroom van de tijd.Meditaties in the Himalaya””
Qui plus est
Tout est moins, au semblable,
tout est plus
Paul Celan
Ce que la pie de la nuit
écrivit de son bec noir
l’aube ne le répète pas
la bouche de la lune se ferme
est engloutie
des voies aériennes se croisent
et effacent les traces
du cristallin
émergent couleurs et formes
lent dévoilement
du visible
qui plus est
que ce qu’il est.
“Oh Flower of Time”
Paul Celan
The morning star
intoxicated by obscure sources,
mirrors herself in the morning red
then vanishes
with the faded dreams of night
ignited by the light
the day wakes
ephemeral flower
of time.
from “The Ephemeral Flower of Time”
Estrella del alba
Oh flor del tiempo
Paul Celan
La estrella del alba
que ha sido oscurecida por fuentes turbias
se refleja un instante en el rojo matinal
luego desaparece
con los sueños disipados de la noche
prendido por la luz
se abre el día
efímera flor
del tiempo.
De “La efímera flor del tiempo”
MORGENSTER
“O Blume der Zeit”
Paul Celan
De morgenster
die zich aan duistere bronnen beneveld heeft
weerspiegelt zich nog even in het ochtendrood
verdwijnt dan
met de vergane dromen van de nacht
aangefakkeld door het licht
ontluikt de dag
efemere bloem
van de tijd.
Uit “De efemere bloem van de tijd”
L’étoile du matin
“Oh fleur du temps»
Paul Celan
L’étoile du matin
qui s’est embrumée à des sources obscures
se reflète un moment encore dans le matin vermeil
disparaît ensuite
avec les rêves évanouis de la nuit
embrasé par la lumière
éclot le jour
fleur éphémère
du temps.
Don’t Count Me Among the Almonds
Make me bitter,
count me with the almonds
—Paul Celan
Don’t count me among them,
don’t count me
with what was bitter
or too dark.
Don’t count me among the bitter almonds.
Give me,
when the night is too dark,
the light of the stars
and the hope of dawn,
the poppy of the dream.
From “The Unrest of the Word,” unpublished
Lake Como, Italy, 15.6.2016
No me cuentes entre los almendros
Hazme amargo,
cuéntame entre los almendros
Paul Celan
No me cuentes entre ellos
no me cuentes
entre lo que fue amargo
o demasiado oscuro.
No me cuentes entre las almendras amargas.
Dame
cuando la noche sea demasiado oscura
la luz de las estrellas
y la esperanza del alba,
la amapola del sueño.
De “La inquietud de la palabra”,
Lago di Como, Italia 15.6.2016
Tel me niet bij de amandelen
Mach mich bitter,
zähle mich zu den Mandeln
Paul Celan
Tel er mij niet bij
tel mij niet
bij wat te bitter
of te duister was.
Tel mij bij jouw amandelen niet.
Schenk mij
als de nacht te donker is
van de sterren het licht
en van de dageraad de hoop
de papaver van de droom.
Uit “De onrust van het woord”, ongepubliceerd
La Cava, Comomeer, 15.6.2016
Ne me compte pas parmi les amandes
Rends-moi amer,
compte moi parmi les amandes
Paul Celan
Ne m’y compte pas
ne me compte pas
parmi ce qui était trop amer
ou trop sombre.
Ne me compte pas parmi tes amandes
Offre moi
quand la nuit est trop obscure
des étoiles la lumière
de l’aurore l’espérance
le coquelicot du rêve.
Mandorla
In the almond, what is in the almond?
The nothingness . . .
Paul Celan
Soundless foghorn
the moist mouth behind the bars
of darkness
don’t call me
don’t give me a name
other than someone
who passed by.
From “Unshadowed Light”
Mandorla
En la mandorla, ¿Qué está en la ¿
La nada
Paul Celan
El crepúsculo
desplaza los límites de la luz
invisible ahora
el escollo
– espina o rosa, juega la noche sus dados
con pecios y caracolas
del pirata
ardor de brasas candentes en el corazón
que con los dedos afables de antaño lee
imágenes amarillentas.
De “Desombrada luz”
Mandorla
In der Mandel, was steht in der Mandel?
Das Nichts
Paul Celan
Klankloze misthoorn
de vochtige mond achter het traliewerk
van duisternis
noem mij niet
geef mij geen naam
anders dan iemand
die voorbijging.
Uit “Ontschaduwd licht”
Mandorla
Dans la mandorle, que se trouve-t-il dans la mandorle?
Le néant
Paul Celan
Corne de brume au son étouffé
branche humide derrière le grillage
d’obscurité
ne me nomme pas
ne me donne aucun nom
autre que celui de quelqu’un
qui passa.
Fugue of Death* (Coronavirus)
To Donald Trump, Boris Johnson, Jair Bolsonaro…
Death, we drink you,
we drink you with our eyes,
we drink you with our ears
we drink you day by day
Dead, no time is left to say goodbye,
no time to dig your graves,
the leaders paved the road
with hypocrisy and dazzling lies.
Death, we drink you,
we drink you with our eyes,
we drink you with our ears
we drink you day by day.
Altea, Spain, 28.3.2020
*Todesfuge (Fugue of death), famous poem by Paul Celan
about the extermination of Jews by the Nazis
Fuga de la muerte * (Coronavirus)
A Donald Trump, Boris Johnson, Jair Bolsonaro…
Muerte, te bebemos,
te bebemos con nuestros ojos,
te bebemos con nuestros oídos
te bebemos día tras día
Muerte,
no hay tiempo para las despedidas,
no hay tiempo para cavar tus tumbas
Los líderes allanaron el camino
con hipocresía y mentiras deslumbrantes
Muerte, te bebemos,
te bebemos con nuestros ojos,
te bebemos con nuestros oídos
te bebemos día tras día.
Altea, España, 28.3.2020
*Todesfuge (Fuga de la muerte), poema de Paul Celan
sobre los judíos incinerados por los Nazis
TODESFUGE * (Coronavirus)
voor Donald Trump, Boris Johnson, Jair Bolsonaro…
Dood, we drinken je,
we drinken je met onze ogen,
we drinken je met onze oren
we drinken je dag na dag.
Doden,
is er geen tijd meer om afscheid te nemen,
er is geen tijd meer om jouw graven te delven
de leiders hebben de weg geplaveid
met hypocrisie en met leugens.
Dood, we drinken je,
we drinken je met onze ogen,
we drinken je met onze oren
we drinken je dag na dag.
*Todesfuge (Fuga van de dood), gedicht van Paul Celan over de Joden die door de nazi’s werden vergast
Fugue de la mort *
A Donald Trump, Boris Johnson, Jair Bolsonaro…
Mort, nous te buvons,
nous te buvons avec nos yeux,
nous te buvons avec nos oreilles,
nous te buvons jour après jour
Morts,
nous n’avons pas le temps de dire adieu,
nous n’avons pas le temps de creuser vos tombes
Les dirigeants ont pavé le chemin
d’hypocrisie et de mensonge
Mort, nous te buvons,
nous te buvons avec nos yeux,
nous te buvons avec nos oreilles,
nous te buvons jour après jour.
Altea, Espagne, 28.3.2020
*Todesfuge (Fugue de la mort), poème de Paul Celan,
référant aux Juifs, tués par les Nazis dans les camps de concentration.
TheWisdom of unspoken Words
How Celan’s Poems inspired me
Although born in the Flemish part of Belgium where Dutch is the official language, as a youngster it was not the Flemish nor the Dutch poetry that fascinated me, but the French, Baudelaire, Verlaine, Rimbaud… and even more the German. Initially the romantics and later Hölderlin, Rilke, as well as the East German poets Peter Huchel, Reiner Kunze. Years later, in the early eighties, I read in a German literary magazine Todesfuge (Fugue of Death) by Paul Celan. The language and the style of the poetry were totally new and impressed me greatly. The poem not only describes realistically the terrible event, the killing of the Jews by the Nazis, but leaves the reader freedom of interpretation. The rhythm, the repetition of “we drink” makes the poem even more dramatic: Dark milk of daybreak we drink it in the evening, we drink it at noon and in the morning, we drink it at night, we drink and we drink. In the original German version, the verses sound even more melodious, but the musicality of the poem does not reduce the horror, the drama, on the contrary it increases it. That poem incited me to read more poetry by that Jewish poet, born as Paul Antschel or Anczel 1920 in Czernowiz, Bukovina. His parents had been killed by the Nazis and he had been forced to work in a labour camp till it was dissolved in 1944.
Fuge of Death, written in Bucharest in 1945, is probably his most famous poem, published for the first time in The Romanian periodical Contemporanul, Bucharest 2.5.1947 entitled “Tangoul mortii” (Tango of Death), translated in Romanian by his Bucharest friend Petre Solomon, the poem was included in his first poetry book Der Sand aus den Urnen (The Sand of the Urns) published in Vienna in 1948, but withdrawn by the poet because of many misprints. His second book Mohn und Gedächtnis (Poppy and Memory), published 1952 in Germany by the well known German publisher Deutsche Verlags-Anstalt, contained as well Fugue of Death, the new title of the poem, but also Corona, Zähle die Mandeln (Count the Almonds) and other fascinating poems, in German poetry a completely new tone, call it, so typical for Celan’s style the poetic expression of Sprachlosigkeit, speechlessness, a style which characterizes Celan’s complete poetic oeuvre: the expression of what can’t be said, leaving each individual reader to unravel the unspoken which can be understood in several ways. The language remains fundamental, personal, although she had to pass through her own perplexity, the darkness, the horror.
(Paul Celan spent most of his life in Paris and was also a very active translator. He translated works of Arthur Rimbaud, Guillaume Apollinaire, Henri Michaux, René Char, Emily Dickinson, Robert Frost, Shakespeare as well as the Russians poets like Alexander Blok, Ossip Mandelstam and other poets.)
“Much of Celan’s later poetry can be intuitively grasped, but not rendered in another language, without as much knowledge as possible of his sources” pretends correctly Michael Hamburger who translated a ample selection of Celan’s poem, published by Penguin Books. I also translated a few poems of Celan, but his language is so personal that many of his poems cannot be rendered correctly in another language.
Celan had seen death with his own eyes, anguish, darkness and the stigma of death accompanied him all his life, present in many of his poems, as he writes in the last verses of a poem from Mohn und Gedächtnis, his first poetry collection published in Germany “Count the almonds, / count, what was bitter and kept you awake, / count me among them… the death layed the arm around you, and the three of you walked through the evening. He committed suicide by drowning in the Seine in April 1970.
The unspoken: a source of inspiration
My first poetry books, “Forty at the Wall”, “Palpable Absence” and “Do you know the Country? Meditations at Lake Como”, considered neo-romantic by literary critics, were slightly influenced by German nature poets, but after having visited many times the Far East, having discovered and studied Asian philosophies, starting with “The Road”, written in India and translated into Chinese as TAO, my poetry made a big change and became more philosophic. Taoist, pretend the Chinese, or ZEN according to the Japanese. Where nature poetry is descriptive, influenced by the surroundings, philosophical poetry is a reality to be be discovered. Paul Celan described it perfectly: Wirklichkeit ist nicht./Wirklichkeit will gesucht und gewonnen sein” (Reality does not exist, reality wants to be searched and gained). The Spanish poet José Ángel Valente who also translated in Spanish a number of Celan’s poems claimed “As a multiplier of feelings the poem surpasses all possible feelings”. However, the poems should not show itself to the reader undressed and nude, it should – as it is in Celan’s poetry – conserve what constitutes poetry: the fascination of the enigma. However, contrary to Celan, I try to write a kind of poetry which is apparently – simple, but profound. However, the change from descriptive to more philosophical poetry, to find a “new reality”, requires a free mind, I therefore have to leave my “normal” daily life, find a place without people and other elements, such as noise, TV, smartphone, things which distract the spirit, the thinking, inspiration: obstructing the arrival of the word at the white, the empty paper. Because Paul Celan’s poetry leaves that freedom of personal interpretation, wherever I go to write, I always carry with me his books. Although my poetry is completely different from Celan’s, through the years, as much as eleven poems refer in some or other way to his verses. The poem “Nighthorn” dedicated to Paul Celan, published in “Do you know the Country?” refers to his suicide as does the poem “As one knows…” from “Conversation with the Hereafter”. The poem “Thorn or Rose ” refers to his poem Mandorla and to Celan’s life, full of dramatic events which deeply influenced his life and his poetry: the killing of his parents, death of his first child shortly after its birth, his complicated love affair with the Austrian poet Ingeborg Bachmann and last but not least the claims of plagiarism by the widow of the poet Yvan Goll, resulting in a press campaign, leaving deep scars in Celan’s psyche, the sense of life. “When my Lip bleeds by the Language” clearly refers to Celan’s very personal poetry, full of neologisms and unusual words and expressions.
The poem “Morning Star” with a verse of Paul Celan “Oh Flower of Time” inspired me for the title of my latest publish poetry book “The Ephemeral Flower of Time” whereas the poem “Don’t count me among the Almonds” , selected from my latest, not yet published book “The Unrest of the Word” is a poetic response to Celan’s verses “Make me bitter, count me with the almonds” as is “Mandorla”. The misleading speeches of some politicians concerning the corona virus, resulting to the death of hundred thousand of people, as did Hitler’s agitating speeches, reminded and inspired me to “Fugue of Death” one of my recent poems.
Germain Droogenbroodt
Met dank aan Germain Droogenbroodt
de Weg – el Camino
GEDICHTEN – POESÍA: Germain Droogenbroodt
TEKENINGEN – DIBUJOS: Satish Gupta
mystiek & filosofie 
De Poëzie van Germain Droogenbroodt is wondermooi met diepe gevoelens met alles wat een mens kan ervaren. Ze zijn vol Oosterse mystiek en liefde. De schilderijen maken er een prachtig geheel van.
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