Your Hand Full Of Hours

Paul Celan  1939 - 1970

Your hand full of hours, you came to me--and I said:
Your hair is not  brown.
So you lifted it lightly on to the scales of grief; it
       weighed more than I...

On ships they come to you and make it their cargo, then
       put it on sale in the markets of lust--
You smile at me from the depth, I weep at you from the
       scale that stays light.
I weep: Your hair is not brown, they offer brine from the
       sea and you give them curls...
You whisper: They're filling the world with me now, in
       your heart I'm a hollow way still!
You say: Lay the leafage of years beside you--it's time
       you came closer and kissed me!

The leafage of years is brown, your hair is not brown.
                                (translated by Michael Hamburger)


Paine, Jeffery, ed. The Poetry of Our World: An International 
Anthology of Contemporary Poetry. New York: HarperCollins,
2000.