Tselan Paul Biography

This was a tribute to her talent, a tragic fate, a tribute to her, as a woman, finally, a tribute to a man who had lived in the last decades in Dusseldorf and buried here. But no less than Rosa Auslander deserves to be named among her first fellow countryman and contemporary, her friend and colleague in fate and creativity, her and our fellow tribe, one of the most famous poets of post -war Europe Paul Tselan.

The first post -war years were marked by the entry of the poetry of a whole series of magnificent masters who wrote in German. It is difficult, and there is no need to arrange the creators along the steps of hierarchical stairs. But, in fairness, one of the first places in this series of Paul Tselan cannot be given. His appearance in the poetic sky of Europe was like a flash of the brightest star.

And not only because he lived a relatively short life, and not because he was the owner of many prestigious awards of his time, rather, a consequence, and not because he managed to introduce Europe to the work of such wonderful poets as O. Mandelstam, M. Tsvetaeva et al. Paul Tselan, like many of his contemporaries - poets of the first post -war years, lived a difficult, tragic life.

Its formation and formation as a person and personality was in the pre -war years and years of fascist occupation. And this could not but affect his work, on his fate. Yes, in this, in fact, there is no particular need, for both of them are in numerous sources. It is much more important to show how and what he was thinking about. And this is in his poems. True, significant difficulties arise here: Paul Tselan wrote in German and Verlibr.

The author of this article writes rhymed verses. You can argue with this form, although in the history of Russian literature there are brilliant examples of writing such verses. It was these examples that allowed me to encroach on P.'s poems in the legitimacy of such a position I was strengthened by the statements of J. Gordin about the meaning of translation activity in the preface to the book “Waiting for barbarians, world poetry in the translations of Joseph Brodsky” “Star magazine”, St.

Petersburg, G. About how I managed to realize these intentions to judge not to me. Sharkova textologically and intonationally very close to the copyright and probably has the right to be called - translation. David Garbar. The Brandung surf about the time,- dusting in the dunes, through the fingers sagging days,- tell me, can I stay forever young? What does alluring lights mean to me?

Tell me what is available to a person? He can live a second life? What will he convey to the future century?

And how much to circle in space? Questions run as a surf: where is that country that was ours before? Who am I alone with myself? And why is our century so terrible? Questions run as a surf the one who considers the brave clock. Winter passes, summer, autumn and spring, and he counts the brave clock. He thinks of us without enmity, is one who considers the brave clock.

He put everything done on the scales. But he listens and hears only himself. The fragment of the world on her chest. And he knows the word. But he only laughs, because he knows what is ahead there. And mixing a quiet laughter with wine that she should drink, if you want to live, she calmly looks at every house and makes us drink a drug. Rain fills the mug to the edges. We drink it. And the night plays with us.

Memories come to us under the shelter. I see the color of snow white. Lost - found, flashes of fire. Gusts of wind, hair, spring that is a clock for her, then years for me. I don't get tired of thinking about you. And the heart did not stop knocking on you. You are in the country where the Athmies of Shadows in the Poles of Remembrance are appealed to the light.

You are all in the well of my memory. I will bend to the water: where are you?! You are standing in a memory well before me. You are imagining me through glare and flickering. I know - you won’t resurrect the past, but I strive for you in languor. At the long tables, the jugs of God drink time. The score is multiplying. The shadows over them - the gods with us play here and there.

And soon they will submit an invoice for payment. Blind and sighted into the mugs, pouring, with a smile on the feasts he looks, squeezing a ready -made account for payment. In the glass that I drink with a dream about you. I drink for so long that my heart turned black. And Paris is floating in tears by his own fate. I have been drinking for so long that the fog of my dreams covered me from the world, in which I was steaming on a twig of love.

And the branch is you. And I tremble like a sheet. And drink. For us. And for you. And I carry dead flowers in a glass full of ripe ink. Outside the windows I hear a sister's speech, which is with me only in a dream with a timid. I am standing all over the past time. I accumulated Zhivitsa for a late bird, flying with an ice floe in my beak in my life, so that in the bee of summer let it get drunk.

Mandorla Mandorla almond walnut - a symbol of the concealment of truth in the language of medieval mysticism, what do you keep in the depths, about a nut? Nothing is hidden in your bottomless depth. The king is nothing. Salvation in it and sin. What is destined to see in that depth? What is our bitterness, Jewish family? What does the gaze in the silence of the depths see?

What is doomed to see my people? What should the son do? Answer, a bottomless walnut!Reread the whole gamut of my words, where you are all, in mourning and gold. In the words of those name you gain, the only true name. I collected in words of desire and dreams to make them yours and mine. Psalm psalm will nobody out with you from clay. No one will keep our dust.

Nobody in whose jugs are, the scarlet buds are lowered into nothing. We were, there are and we will be, - in the buds of roses, in colors - nothing. And the heart - turning to people, sings in a crown of words a psalm nobody. The shifts of D. Fugue of Death Todesfuge black milk of dawn - we drink it in the evenings, we drink it in the afternoon and in the morning, we drink it nights, we drink and drink.