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Paul Celan (1920-1970)

Up • Biography • Death Fugue • Todesfuge • Was geschah • So bist du denn geworden • You Were My Death • Tenebrae • Stunden • Sprich auch du • Vor einer Kerze • Ein Dröhnen 

 

     Black milk of daybreak we drink it at sundown
     we drink it at noon in the morning we drink it at night
     we drink and we 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 and 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 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 Shulamith 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 the iron in his belt he waves it his eyes are blue
     jab deeper 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 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 Shulamith 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

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