Todtnauberg by Paul Celan - a translation

Arnika, Augentrost, der Trunk aus dem Brunnen mit dem Sternwürfel drauf, in der Hütte, die in das Buch - wessen Namen nahms auf vor dem meinen?-, die in dies Buch geschriebene Zeile von einer Hoffnung, heute, auf eines Denkenden kommendes  Wort im Herzen, Waldwasen, uneingeebnet, Orchis und Orchis, einzeln, Krudes, später, im Fahren, deutlich, der uns fährt, der Mensch, der's mit anhört, die halb- beschrittenen Knüppel- pfade im Hochmoor, Feuchtes, viel. (Frankfurt, 1. August 1967) Arnica, eyebright, the drink from the well with the star-carved-die on it, into the Hut, into the book —whose name did it take before mine?— in this book, the penned line about a hope, today, for the thinker's coming word from the heart, forest peat-sward, uneven, orchid and orchid, singly, crudeness, after, while driving, explicit, he who drives us, the man, he also hears it, the half- trod log-paved trails on the high moor, cloy-clammy, very much.

English rendering © 2017 by Elisabeth T. Eliassen

This poem by Celan, this very difficult poem, is a poem about place, about person, about the potential for healing and about hope unrealized. The brilliance of this piece is its economy (69 words), with at least half the words being each so pregnant with meaning that reams of commentary have been written on them.

I undertake my own variation at great risk—many, many more informed people than I have attempted to render this poem in English. My attempt is particular to me, owing to the presence and symbolism of plant life, and the fact that this poem is an entry in Celan’s internal diary.

This poem is a single-line sketch of the 1967 meeting Celan had with the philosopher Martin Heidegger at his Todtnauberg cabin retreat called “der Hütte.”

For just the barest background, Celan and Heidegger were engaged in intellectual dialogue between the years 1952 and 1970; Celan had a great deal of admiration for the work of the philosopher, discovering similar views on “truth” and “language”, “time” and “being”, and how “language speaks.” But Celan also had a great deal of ambivalence toward Heidegger because of his affiliation, collaboration with Nazism, while Rector of the University of Freiburg, for which he seemed reluctant to express public – or private – regret. For Celan, the German-speaking Jewish Romanian survivor of a labor camp, whose parents were deported and died at an internment camp, this “fact” of Heidegger’s complicity with Nazism created an insurmountable gulf, despite mutual admiration and shared dialogue, despite Heidegger’s support of Celan’s work.

Shortly after giving a Der Spiegel interview, and following Paul Celan’s July 24, 1967 lecture at Freiburg, Martin Heidegger took Celan to see his cabin at Todtnauberg. Celan signed the famous guestbook, the two men engaged in a brief conversation, followed by a short walk and a drive back to town.

Brevity is key. The poem is all too brief; in fact, it seems rushed.

The botanical surroundings, at first, breathe hope into the encounter. Arnica Montana, that bright yellow asterid, dots the landscape surrounding the cabin; so, too, eyebright, another asterid—this one’s flower is shaped like two lips. Arnica, a balm for bruises; eyebright has been used for centuries to quell eyestrain, to bring a return to visual clarity, or to relieve inflammations of the upper respiratory system. The only caveat is that eyebright grows as a semi-parasitic plant in conjunction with various grasses and other plants.

There is a tapped spring, right alongside the cabin, a source of life and renewal. A cube, carved in the shape of a star, adorns the top of the post that houses the waterspout that feeds water into a long stone trough. The poem doesn’t really indicate a cube, however—the word choice indicates that carved block is like a die. So, chance may be at work; the meeting may not be by chance, but the visitor may be taking a gamble. Even so, the scene continues to seem benign and full of potential. The visitor takes a refreshing drink of the pure mountain water.

And then he is brought into the cabin and invited to sign the guestbook, this book that has taken many names before his. Do the names of other Jews reside in these pages? The visitor cannot help but associate this taking of the name and documenting of his name; perhaps in two ways—on one side, in the Book of Life, juxtaposed on another side against the meticulous records Nazis kept with regard to atrocities and thefts against the Jewish people.

The visitor recorded this line in the guest book:

“Ins Hüttenbuch, mit dem Blick auf den Brunnenstern, mit einer Hoffnung auf ein Kommendes Wort im Herzen. Am 25. Juli 1967 / Paul Celan.”

“In the book in the cottage, with a view of the well star, with the hope of a word to come in the heart. July 25, 1967, Paul Celan.” 

In whose heart was the hope of a word, at that moment, I wonder?

In the poem, clearly the word is desired by the visitor of the thinker, the philosopher. This is a kind of pilgrimage.

But the poem does not even hint at discussion. The time in the hut seems but no time at all, and they are back outdoors, walking briefly over the damp ground, one orchid beside one orchid. The mountain orchid has been used medicinally for centuries in Europe to ease gastro-intestinal complaints; the Chinese use orchid medicine to improve eyesight and boost the immune system. More to the point, in this poem, the plants consist of a double bulb, very like testicles in shape; one German word for orchid is Knabenkraut (boy’s weed). Celan refers to orchids in other poems. I am not sure if Celan would have been aware of Zen symbolism of orchid as “poet” and “thinker”, but I will gamble on that. The poet walks alongside the thinker, but they are not joined as brothers; instead, they are just as contained and separate as they were when they arrived at this locus. Further, the ground is uneven, so they are not on the same footing, at the same level.

The pilgrimage fails to ford the chasm, despite the appearance of benignity and healing.

The visit further dispels any notion that such a transcendence of their differences can take place, with unfortunate words being uttered during the car ride back to town. It is unclear who uttered the words, but the visitor claims the driver to be a witness who can verify, leaving the implication towards the thinker, speaking without thinking, perhaps.

As they drive back to town, the occupants of the car pass by and through wooded areas, partially logged, with log covered foot trails, perhaps owing to the moistness of the landscape. The living pines stick up straight, the logs lining the path are likewise straight, like cudgels, in the soggy, peaty ground, dispelling the artifice of the semiotic presence of the benign, the healing, and the hopeful. Now, it seems as if the ground is swollen with rot; this meeting is no longer an idyll with an idol. The idol has proved himself not to be worthy – or, the pilgrim has not brought forth the purpose of his quest.

While others tend to translating “Wort im Herzen” into English more literally as “word in heart,” I chose “word from the heart” because I understand the point of the meeting to be a pilgrimage, in search of a means by which to transcend the gulf of differences into brotherhood, if the thinker could but offer a heartfelt word of some kind. Instead, the meeting seemed perfunctory, and whatever discussion exchanged is either insubstantial (at the cabin) or “crude” and “explicitly so” on the way back, in the car.

The encounter that inspired this poem did not end well; but the two men continued to communicate with one another, even if the communications were somewhat strained, until the end of Celan’s life.

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Despite this pessimistic reading (really the only choice available), I suggest that implicit in the poem is the endless potential for healing, if the all important (magical?) word will be spoken. The potential for the positive and the healing is always alive, always rich, always supported. The fact that healing and transcendence were not experienced here was a matter of choice, both on the part of the thinker and on the part of the poet. Place was not the primary factor, neither was the timing. Overloaded expectations may have been a factor, as well as courage or lack thereof, toward articulating a question. Certainly, an inner struggle and perhaps a crisis of identity factored into this outcome.

Perhaps I chose to explore this poem on this day is to suggest that brother/sisterhood is always a worthy goal, and always possible – if one can bridge the chasms of ethnicity, class, race, religion, criminal record, victimhood, guilt, shyness… loneliness. And this may be at some cost, but it should never be at the cost of personhood and self-value/self-respect.

Pristine water still wells from the spring; the arnica and eyebright, the orchids still grow and bloom; the turf and the trees provide fuel and shelter. We humans pass through this land of potential, and don’t often enough use the good of what is provided. We opt instead to avoid, or worse utter the unmindful word, and tend toward the destruction of what is good.

My thought and prayer for you, for me, for all of us this day: Positive potential greets you, everyday; don’t be afraid to engage it. Don't let unrealized hope close the book on your quest.