Poetry Friday

A cheery one next week....I chose this today because of reading The Book Thief and listening to the Anne Frank diary. I've also taken the liberty of playing around with the line breaks.

Death Fugue
by Paul Celan translated by Jerome Rothenberg
Black milk of morning we drink you at dusktime we drink you at noontime and dawntime we drink you at night we drink and drink we scoop out a grave in the sky where it’s roomy to lie There’s a man in this house who cultivates snakes and who writes who writes when it’s nightfall nach Deutschland  your golden hair Margareta he writes it and walks from the house  and the stars all start flashing  he whistles his dogs to draw near whistles his Jews to appear starts us scooping a grave out of sand he commands us to play for the dance Black milk of morning we drink you at night we drink you at dawntime and noontime we drink you at dusktime we drink and drink There’s a man in this house who cultivates snakes and who writes who writes when it’s nightfall nach Deutschland your golden hair Margareta your ashen hair Shulamite  we scoop out a grave in the sky where it’s roomy to lie He calls jab it deep in the soil you lot there you other men sing and play he tugs at the sword in his belt he swings it his eyes are blue jab your spades deeper you men you other men you others play up again for the dance Black milk of morning we drink you at night we drink you at noontime and dawntime we drink you at dusktime we drink and drink there’s a man in this house your golden hair Margareta your ashen hair Shulamite he cultivates snakes He calls play that death thing more sweetly  Death is a gang-boss aus Deutschland he calls scrape that fiddle more darkly  then hover like smoke in the air then scoop out a grave in the clouds where it’s roomy to lie Black milk of morning we drink you at night we drink you at noontime  Death is a gang-boss aus Deutschland we drink you at dusktime and dawntime we drink and drink Death is a gang-boss aus Deutschland his eye is blue he shoots you with leaden bullets his aim is true there’s a man in this house  your golden hair Margareta he sets his dogs on our trail  he gives us a grave in the sky he cultivates snakes and he dreams   Death is a gang-boss aus Deutschland     your golden hair Margareta your ashen hair Shulamite