It is barbaric to write poetry after Auschwitz.
One must have tradition in oneself, to hate it properly.
Auschwitz begins wherever someone looks at a slaughterhouse and thinks: theyโre only animals.
Suffering has as much right to be expressed as a martyr has to cry out. So it may have been false to say that writing poetry after Auschwitz is impossible.
There is no love that is not an echo.
Death is imposed only on creatures, not their creations, and has therefore always appeared in art in a broken form: as allegory.