Paul som Paul, om eftermiddagen

O little root of a dream
you hold me here
undermined by blood,
no longer visible to anyone,
property of death.

Curve a face
that there may be speech, of earth,
of ardor, of
things with eyes, even
here, where you read me blind,

even
here,
where you
refute me,
to the letter.

"O Little Rot of a Dream"
Paul Celan (Paul Antschel), 1920-1970
Översättning av Heather McHugh och Nikolai Popo