I’ve been reading Poems of Paul Celan translated by Michael Hamburger. Basically, Celan makes me cry.
I typed up some of my favorite lines for you:
The forest gave you a necklace of hands. So dead you walk the rope. To your hair a darker blue is imparted; I speak of love.
In the vault of swords the leaf-green heart of the shadows looks at itself. The blades are bright: who would not linger in death before mirrors?
High up they hurl hearts, the mossy globes of dementia:
O water-colored fleece, our one flag on the tower!
Ok, I will show you more tomorrow. If you're lucky.