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Frankfurt, September

Blind wall-space,
bearded by brilliances.
A dream of a cockchafer
sheds light on it.

Behind that, halftoned with lamentations,
Freud’s forehead opens up:

the tear
compacted of silence
breaks out in a proposition:
"Psycho-
logy for the last
time."

The pseudo-jackdaw
(cough-caw’s double)
is breakfasting.

The glottal stop is breaking
into song.

Paul Celan

(translated from the German by Nikolai Popov and Heather McHugh)



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