Jordan is seeking background information about this envelope:
Original text by Emanuel Hacken, edited by Ruth Glasberg Gold
Dear Czernowitzians and all List members,
This photo Hardy sent to me on 5 July 2017 — Hardy and Rachel in better times – both gone now — all too soon.
Shown here is a photo of Nurit Naeh at the Czernowitz Jewish Cemetery, May 2017. Nurit writes: “I succeeded to find the gravestone of my Grandfather’s (Carl Schafer) sister, Marie Schafer in the Jewish cemetery, and their house in Frazengasse 23 as well. Attached is a photograph of me near Marie’s gravestone.”
Yehuda Yannay (b. May 26, 1937 in Timișoara, Romania) is an Israeli-American composer, conductor, and media artist. Surviving the Holocaust times and fleeing the subsequent Communist regime, he immigrated with his parents to Israel in 1951. According to Wikipedia, Yehuda Yannay „is the first non-German composer who delved into the complex poetry of Paul Celan, a Holocaust survivor, in its original language…“
Today the curtain falls at the 40th edition of the Duisburg Documentary Film Festival. It is one of the important festivals for German-language documentary film, rich in tradition and valued by visitors for its laid-back atmosphere. This year the festival took place under the motto “Es ist Zeit” [It is time] between 7 – 13 November 2016. Selected knowingly or not by the festival organizers, “It is time” is at the same time the concluding line for Paul Celan’s poem “Corona” as translated by John Felstiner in Paul Celan: Poet Survivor Jew. Beyond the festival’s motto, two films are directly or indirectly related to Czernowitz.
Literary Supplement: Corona by Paul Celan, translated by John Felstiner in Paul Celan: Poet Survivor Jew.
Autumn nibbles its leaf right from my hand: we’re friends.
We shell time from the nuts and teach it to walk:
time turns back into its shell.
In the mirror is Sunday,
in dream goes sleeping,
the mouth speaks true.
My eye goes down to my lover’s loins:
we gaze at each other,
we say dark things,
we love one another like poppy and memory,
we slumber like wine in the seashells,
like the sea in the moon’s blood-beam.
We stand at the window embracing, they watch from the street:
It’s time people knew!
It’s time the stone consented to bloom,
a heart beat for unrest.
It’s time it came time.
It is time.
Personally, I do have a high affinity for Paul Celan’s poem Corona. Read more at: “John Cage, Paul Celan, John Felstiner and Edgar Hauster in Halberstadt”.