Sequence after Celan
1
Spring: trees flying up to their birds
where the sun is the seeds are freed
their small sound a wound
like death watercoloured and open
each foliated lung with its breathing understory
the climb of springtime into the loud light
sky filled with dove-coloured words
2
the climbed evening
is thick with lung-scrub
a nocturne of oxygen of spring sillage the raising of the dead
and their flowers
the night deer with hooves of heather the precision of an owl in
*rooted darkness
in the tangled bramble
a knot of blood
3
water needles
stitch up the split
shadow-he fights his way
deeper down, free
rain wholly itself
a breathing torrent
hitting the half-lit
a million microdazzles a mouse
mud-buried
a blinking scut
the fluency of a softer death
a spring nothingness
a heart-smoke
4
in the air, there your root remains, there, in the air
up
the sky bitten open
the sun exhumed
clouds bud and bloom
with roots of rain
5
All things,
even the heaviest, were
fledged, nothing,
held back.
weeds like wicks ending
long-edged
weighted by a bursting yellow
re-bloom and climb
a white tufted voile
like breath solidifying
the hung lungs letting go
everything uprooted
*
after
The green gardens are gone. What is left is a grief-bulb.
It has no smell or sound, just a dormant red.
So is the air with its salt and silence.
So is the hunter with his glacial ethics.
Sequence after Celan is © Gillian Prew
Her latest chapbook, Three Colours Grief, was published by erbacce-press in June 2016. She is online at https://gprew.wordpress.com/ She has been twice short-listed for the erbacce-prize and twice nominated for a Pushcart Prize. |
4 responses to “‘Sequence after Celan’ by Gillian Prew”
stunning… yes. stunning
LikeLike
thanks for commenting Nike E.
LikeLike
Reblogged this on reubenwoolley.
LikeLike
Maybe she’s referencing this poem by Celan
I heard it said by Paul Celan
(trans. by Pierre Joris)
I heard it said there was
a stone in the water and a circle,
and above the water a word
that lays the circle around the stone.
I saw my poplar go down to the water,
I saw her arm reach down into the depth,
I saw her roots beg skyward for night.
I did not run after her,
I only picked up from the ground the crumb
that has your eye’s shape and nobility,
I took the chain of proverbs off your neck
and with it hemmed the table where the crumb now lay.
And no longer saw my poplar.
LikeLike