A man, like Lenz

A man, like Lenz, walks through the mountains. His tribe, ancient, were skilled with large rocks, their lives systematized by words like 'crag.' The light changes quickly, from blue to fainted purples, careening off the snowed faces. The air drops into sudden chill. The man pauses in his labor; the hollow in the rock will not hold warmth through the night. Perhaps others will pass by, and offer some aid.

war for objects

from "Meridian" speech by Paul Celan

The poem is lonely. It is lonely and en route. Its author stays with it.

Does this very fact not place the poem already here, at its inception, in the encounter, in the mystery of encounter?


The poem intends another, needs this other, needs an opposite. It goes toward it, bespeaks it.