Your Hand Full of Hours
Your hand full of hours, you came to me - and I said:
Your hair is not brown.
So you lifted it lightly on to the scales of grief; it
weighed more than I . . .
On ships they come to you and make it their cargo, then
put it on sale in the markets of lust -
You smile at me from the depth, I weep at you from the
scale that stays light.
I weep: Your hair is not brown, they offer brine from
the sea and you give them curls . . .
You whisper: They're filling the world with me now,
in your heart I'm a hollow way still!
You say: Lay the leafage of years beside you - it's time
you came closer and kissed me!
The leafage of years is brown, your hair is not brown.
- Paul Celan: Selected Poems
Your hair is not brown.
So you lifted it lightly on to the scales of grief; it
weighed more than I . . .
On ships they come to you and make it their cargo, then
put it on sale in the markets of lust -
You smile at me from the depth, I weep at you from the
scale that stays light.
I weep: Your hair is not brown, they offer brine from
the sea and you give them curls . . .
You whisper: They're filling the world with me now,
in your heart I'm a hollow way still!
You say: Lay the leafage of years beside you - it's time
you came closer and kissed me!
The leafage of years is brown, your hair is not brown.
- Paul Celan: Selected Poems
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