Poetry is a sort of homecoming.
Paul CelanRead
With a changing key, you unlock the house where the snow of what’s silenced drifts. Just like the blood that bursts from Your eye or mouth or ear, so your key changes. Changing your key changes the word That may drift with flakes. Just like the wind that rebuffs you, Clenched round your word is the snow.
Interpretation
The quote suggests that our perspectives and expressions can unlock deeper emotions and truths that are often hidden or silenced.
Paul Celan's quote reflects on the transformative power of language and expression. It implies that just as a key can unlock a door, the way we communicate—our 'key'—can reveal the layers of our experiences and emotions, many of which remain unacknowledged or dormant ('the snow of what’s silenced'). The imagery of snow and blood suggests the interplay between beauty and pain, where our words carry the weight of our lived experiences and evoke a range of emotions.
In practice
In a poetry reading to evoke the depth of emotional experience.
Poetry is a sort of homecoming.
A poem, as a manifestation of language and thus essentially dialogue, can be a message in a bottle, sent out in the –not always greatly hopeful-belief that somewhere and sometime it could wash up on land, on heartland perhaps. Poems in this sense too are under way: they are making toward something. Toward what? Toward something standing open, occupiable, perhaps toward an addressable Thou, toward an addressable reality.
Each arrow you shoot off carries its own target into the decidedly secret tangle
Only truthful hands write true poems. I cannot see any basic difference between a handshake and a poem.
no one bears witness for the witness
in the air, there your root remains, there, in the air
Tonight I feel the stars are out_x000D_ to use me for target practice.
I saw the gooseflesh on my skin. I did not know what made it. I was not cold. Had a ghost passed over? No, it was the poetry.
America is a poem in our eyes; its ample geography dazzles the imagination, and it will not wait long for metres.
n OthI n g can s urPas s the m y SteR y of s tilLnes s
I hear it in the deep heart's core.
Thou has left behind Powers that will work for thee,-air, earth, and skies! There 's not a breathing of the common wind That will forget thee; thou hast great allies; Thy friends are exultations, agonies, And love, and man's unconquerable mind.
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