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who sez stones can’t bloom?

Corona

Autumn nibbles its leaf from my hand.
We are friends.

We shell time from the nuts and teach them to walk.
Time returns into its shell.

In the mirror is Sunday.
In dreams come sleeping–
the mouth speaks true.

My eye moves down to my lover’s loins.
We gaze at each other and we speak dark things.

We love one another like poppy, like memory
we slumber like wine in the sea shells
like the sea in the moon’s blood jet.

One heart beat for unrest.

We stand at the window embracing.
People watch us from the street.
It is time people knew. It is time
the stone consented to bloom.

It is time it came time.
It is time.

Paul Celan
translation: John Felstiner

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About Celan

Explaining Celan and this poem

This entry was posted on Thursday, September 19th, 2019 at 2:54 pm and is filed under And Another Thing, Passionate Me, Prose & Poetry, PSOetry. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.

3 Responses to “who sez stones can’t bloom?”

  1. Incognito Thomas Says:

    Miss Angela thank you for posting this and especially thankful for posting the link to explain the poem. Very helpful!

  2. Joel311 Says:

    I love juxtaposed and mixed images of moments and eternity. There is so much of both when lovers can be with each other fully and it can defy a prose based exposition.
    You, Mistress Angels, are a curator of beauty.

  3. Mr. Smith Says:

    I believe you make rocks bloom every day.

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