Ilse Bing, Christmas Eve, Frankfurt Station, 1929


"It's late. A spongy fetish
eats the cones off the Christmas tree;

a wish frisks after them
roughened up by
aphorisms of frost;

the window flies open; we're outside;

the bump of Being
will not level out..."

– Paul Celan, from Glottal Stop, trans. Nikolai Popov and Heather McHugh

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