Today, January 27th, is Holocaust Remembrance Day.
I first read, and heard of, Paul Celan while reading book five of Karl Ove Knausgaard’s captivating My Struggle autobiography. Celan and his parents were Jewish, and they were put into Romanian concentration camps during World War II. His parents both died there.
How can we find words to describe the abyss? As Celan puts it,
Only one thing remained reachable, close and secure amid all losses: language. Yes, language. In spite of everything, it remained secure against loss. But it had to go through its own lack of answers, through terrifying silence, through the thousand darknesses of murderous speech. It went through. It gave me no words for what was happening, but went through it. Went through and could resurface, 'enriched' by it all.
Celan’s poem, “Death Fugue”, is translated from the German below.
Death Fugue
by Paul Celan
Black milk of daybreak we drink it at sundown we drink it at noon in the morning we drink it at night we drink it and drink it we dig a grave in the breezes there one lies unconfined A man lives in the house he plays with the serpents he writes he writes when dusk falls to Germany your golden hair Margarete he writes it ans steps out of doors and the stars are flashing he whistles his pack out he whistles his Jews out in earth has them dig for a grave he commands us strike up for the dance Black milk of daybreak we drink you at night we drink you in the morning at noon we drink you at sundown we drink and we drink you A man lives in the house he plays with the serpents he writes he writes when dusk falls to Germany your golden hair Margarete your ashen hair Sulamith we dig a grave in the breezes there one lies unconfined He calls out jab deeper into the earth you lot you others sing now and play he grabs at teh iron in his belt he waves it his eyes are blue jab deper you lot with your spades you others play on for the dance Black milk of daybreak we drink you at night we drink you at at noon in the morning we drink you at sundown we drink and we drink you a man lives in the house your golden hair Margarete your ashen hair Sulamith he plays with the serpents He calls out more sweetly play death death is a master from Germany he calls out more darkly now stroke your strings then as smoke you will rise into air then a grave you will have in the clouds there one lies unconfined Black milk of daybreak we drink you at night we drink you at noon death is a master from Germany we drink you at sundown and in the morning we drink and we drink you death is a master from Germany his eyes are blue he strikes you with leaden bullets his aim is true a man lives in the house your golden hair Margarete he sets his pack on to us he grants us a grave in the air He plays with the serpents and daydreams death is a master from Germany your golden hair Margarete your ashen hair Shulamith