Aspen Tree Poem by Paul Celan
Aspen Tree
Aspen Tree, your leaves glance white into the dark.
My mother's hair was never white.
Dandelion, so green is the Ukraine.
My yellow-haired mother did not come home.
Rain cloud, above the well do you hover?
My quiet mother weeps for everyone.
Round star, you wind the golden loop.
My mother's heart was ripped by lead.
Oaken door, who lifted you off your hinges?
My gentle mother cannot return.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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4/16/2024 10:15:27 AM # 1.0.0.1119
poetry is probably the most useful form of writing for confronting grief. Indeed you can be very precise about emotions with poetic language, as well as being open and even harsh. The language of poetry can allude to things almost inexpressible in prose. Paul Celan's poetry is a beacon, from this point of view.
AbsAbsolutely. I like the comparison to beacon because his words do shine a light even though they are so dark dark or rather about the dark. Is it the use of metaphor, of imagery that empowers? The empty spaces, all the words unsaid but free to imagine? The apparent disconnect between lines, thoughts, also open to or nentry or not totally, which is OK. I really like this poet. Even when I don't completely understand him the the work intrigues and engages. I intuit there's more here to grasp the mind than meets the eye at the first first few readings.