She writes:“I shall be in Paris in mid-August,just a few days.Do not ask me why or what for,but be there for me one evening or two,three…Take me to the Seine,let us gaze into it until we become little fishes and recognize each other again.”
He writes:“How far away from me or how close are you,Ingeborg? Tell me,so that I know whether your eyes will be closed if I kiss you now.”
He writes nothing,she writes nothing,she writes nothing,he writes nothing,years pass between letters.We cannot know what went on between them.
He writes:“It was our first rendez-vous in Paris,my heart was beating so loudly,and you did not come.”
She writes:“I love you and I do not want to love you,it is too much and too difficult…”
He writes:“Let us no longer puzzle over what is irretrievable,Ingeborg.”
Paul Celan/Ingeborg Bachmann
("my bedroom is a field of poppies")...
ResponderEliminar("your hand full of hours")
ResponderEliminar("Your hair is not brown")
ResponderEliminar