Paul Celan, "Death Fugue"
Black milk of daybreak we drink in the evening
midday and morning
we drink and we drink
dig a grave in the air there's room for us all
The man in the house he plays with the snakes and he writes
A letter to Germany at dusk
your golden hair Margarete
he writes this and walks out to meet shining stars
he whistles his dogs to him
he whistles his Jews to work: a grave in the earth
and music for dancing
Black milk of daybreak we drink in the night
morning and midday and evening
we drink and we drink
The man in the house he plays with the snakes and he writes
A letter to Germany at dusk
your golden hair Margarete
dig a grave in the air, there's room for us all
You there dig deeper you there play louder
He takes the iron from his belt he swings it his eyes are blue
You there dig and you there dance
Black milk of daybreak we drink in the night
midday and morning and evening
The man in the house your golden hair Margarete
your ashen hair Sulamith he plays with the snakes
Sing death sweetly Death is a master from Germany
Fiddle away darkly And rise as smoke in the air
To a grave in the clouds there's room for us all
Black milk of daybreak we drink in the night
and midday death is a master from Germany
evening and morning we drink and we trink
Death is a master from Germany his eyes are blue
he meets you with lead his aim ever true
The man in the house your golden hair Margarete
his dogs are upon us he gives us a grave in the air
he plays with the snakes and he dreams death is a master from Germany
your golden hair Margarete
your ashen hair Sulamith
Translation (c) Timothy Snyder
From his Speech on the Occasion of Receiving the Literature Prize of the Free Hanseatic City of Bremen:
Only one thing remained reachable, close and secure amid all losses: language. Yes, language. In spite of everything, it remained secure against loss. But it had to go through its own lack of answers, through terrifying silence, through the thousand darknesses of murderous speech. It went through. It gave me no words for what was happening, but went through it. Went through and could resurface, 'enriched' by it all.
- Paul Celan
I have visited the poem several times. First, I read and reread it here. Today, months later, I heard 'Death Fugue' recited in English and German by Timothy Snyder. His voice, weak and tremulous, matched the agony felt in the poem's words. Even while knowing that milk was the sole nourishment given to prisoners in the camps, the 'black milk' of the poem was transmuted in my mind to hardened, days' old clumps of blood. Never have I experienced such ugliness emanating from a poem. I detested it because the pain was unbearable. The cruelty seemed to grew stronger while listening to it recited in German. I saw and felt America with each reading. Although, no Auschwitz or Treblinka, the voices and faces of Trump, DeSantis, Abbott, Gaetz,, Greene, McConnell and Cruz joined the 'Death Fugue' song. Cruelty and lies are not new to America but they are more evident to all who care to know: police brutality, murdered Blacks and Asians, social animosity, hatred, Mario Cuomo, Tucker Carlson... darkness pervades and death is everywhere.