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Paul Celan FOUR POEMS translated by Pierre Joris Bon vent, bonne mer, a fluttering brainflap, a seapiece, hoists, where you live, its capital city, the unconquerable. WOODFACED, slagmouthed fool above the treadwheel: from your earlobe your eye dangles and hops, greened. YOU WITH THE DARKNESS-SLINGSHOT, you with the stone: It is overevening, I throw light behind myself. Fetch me down, take us seriously. IN SAURIAN- skins, epi- leptic one, I bed you, on the windowsills, the gable- holes fill us up, with lightdung.
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