Amos Weisz translating

Paul Celan, "Ihn ritt die Nacht"


the night rode him, he had come to himself,
the orphan's apron was the flag,

no more stravaging, it rode him straight -

it is, it is as if there were oranges in the privet,
as if the man thus ridden had nothing on
but his
first
moled, se-
cret-besprinkled
skin.