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I have a much better translation of Paul Celan's poem " Psalm" than the one on this site:
by Paul Celan
No one molds us again out of earth and clay,
no one conjures our dust.
Praised be your name, no one.
For your sake
we shall flower.
we were, are, shall
the nothing-, the
our pistil soul-bright,
our stamen heaven-ravaged,
our corolla red
with the crimson word which we sang
over, O over
Shall a (mere) monumental thorn
thrust its forbidding will, and so...
e'er again gain a Jew thus far ravaged...?
They must die to tell, if their prints...
are on... the gun....