PAUL CELAN IN THE SEINE
This is an inevitable slip of the tongue. Alone, abroad. Oh! 'April will warm us.' This is an impossible upward gaze. Alone, after his death, floating in the Seine.
Paul Celan drinks from the Seine. The more he drinks, the thirstier he gets. He drinks darkness. A river's parts and a river's whole. He drinks, down to the stem of the final word.
The pure ones are the first to die. Resistance abandoned - you, glorious deserter, have shaken off the concentration camp, your early years, those amusing Nazis. You have returned humiliation completely to the Jews, you let them wander on, get beaten on the way, search on for an impossible solution.
Floating, from the river Seine to the river Jordan, from Paris to Jerusalem, Paul Celan drinks, with his eyes, drinks in a self-invented manner. Quenches his thirst, alone, from two streams: from heaven and hell.
His eyes open in our eyes. He says: 'When God commanded me to drink.'