|
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.
//
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.
