from Fathomsuns and Benighted

Trans Ian Fairley.

White Noise, bundled,
beam-
tracks
cross the table,
with the bottle-mail.
 
(which sounds itself, sounds
an ocean, drinks it
in, unmasks
the gangwealed
mouths.)
 
The one Arcanum
passes forever into the Word.
(Apostates roll
beneath the tree without leaf.)
 
Every
shadowclasp
on every
shadowhinge,
in and out of hearing,
all now report.
 
I do like Paul Celan, indeed theres a wee poem by him on Poethead entitled Irish, Use the search engine at the top right of the page to access Poetry by Paul Celan.
 
[from: Fathomsuns and Benighted, Trans Ian Fairley. Carcanet 2001. Fadensonnen and Eingedunkelt, Introduction by Ian Fairley ]