Pulling the Curtain Aside

~ Christina Egan ~ Leave a comment

Pulling the Curtain Aside

I.

Am I a character
in a glaring maze,
in a hectic loop
of dreams, of dreams?

Or am I a person
in her skin, her pyjamas,
in her room, on a road
rolling out, rolling out?


II.

Painting in blocks of strong colours: yellow and blue cityscape with red sun and red person on roof.

Am I a character
in a lengthy play,
crowded, confusing,
with repetitive lines?

Am I abandoned
to alien tongues,
am I exclaiming
into the winds?

Christina Egan ©2024/©2022

No title. René Halkett (1938).
Image with kind permission of
Galerie Klaus Spermann.

In my very vivid, restless, repetitive dreams in my sleep, I often feel like a spectator who gets periodically drawn into the action and cannot escape. I added this experience to the one of feeling like an actor or character on stage rather than a person who decides upon her actions and communications.

ginsterblüte

~ Christina Egan ~ Leave a comment

ginsterblüte

türkis und gläsern
wie die tiefe
wird die höhe
gegen abend
lichtgesättigt
glattgewölbt

in den dämmer
schreib ich
mit goldner tinte
weitausgreifend
wohlgerundet
deinen namen

niemand liest ihn
auch du nicht
nur die engel
ich hänge mein gebet
an die sterne
über deinem haus

in deinen augen
leuchtet die antwort
auf alle fragen
schau mich an
ehe die ginsterblüte
erlischt

Christina Egan ©2021

Sprig of broom in blossom.
Photograph by Christian Fischer,
CC BY-SA 3.0, via Wikimedia.

Who Watches the Dusk?

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Who Watches the Dusk?

Who watches the tendrils grow and uncurl?
Who watches the rose-buds glow and unfurl?
Who watches the robin flash in the drizzle?
Who watches the robin splash in the puddle?
Flap – and hop – and look – and be gone?

Who watches the drizzle slowly subside?
Who watches the clouds be blown and turn bright?
Who watches the rainbow glimmer and blink?
Who watches the rainbow shimmer and shrink?
Flash – and stretch – and fade – and be gone?

           Who watches the dusk?
           Who talks to the birds?
           Who gropes for the spring?
           Who smells the wet earth?

                     Who frees up the time?
                     Who fills out the space?
                     Who walks with the wind?
                     Who offers his face?

           Who watches the dusk?
Who talks to the birds?
           Who gropes for the spring?
           Who smells the wet earth?

                     Who frees up the time?
                     Who fills out the space?
                     Who walks with the wind?
                     Who offers her face?

Christina Egan ©2018

Am Gipfelkreuz (Zwillingswasserrund)

~ Christina Egan ~ Leave a comment

II.

Hinter dem Gipfelkreuz
die Senke mit den Seen.
Moos bestickt Steinbrocken.
Zwei Kiefern greifen ins Blau.

Hier,
im Herzen des Gebirgs,
speisen steile Bäche
die Höhlungen der Seele.

III.

Wie das Zwillingswasserrund
Fels und Wald und Himmel hält,
blinkt das Auge zauberbunt,
hält der Augenblick die Welt.

Christina Egan ©2016

For the first poem written about that hour in the Rhön Highlands one spring afternoon, see Am Gipfelkreuz (Silberhell). The “twin round waters” are the two little lakes known as Guckaisee (altitude 690 m/2000 feet). Summits of mountains are marked with large crosses in Germany, to be seen from afar.

Am Gipfelkreuz (Silberhell)

~ Christina Egan ~ Leave a comment

Am Gipfelkreuz
(Guckaisee, Rhön)

I.

Silberhell
          singt die Drossel
                    auf keinem Gemälde.
Quellenrein
          weht der Bergwind
                    von keinem Bildschirm.
Alterslos
          stürzt der Wildbach
                    in keinem Musikstück.

Glasfensterbunt sind Tagträume,
sonnenvergoldet Erinnerungen…
Am buntesten aber
          ist
                    das
                              Jetzt.
                                        Jetzt.
Und niemals, niemals kehrt die Stunde wieder,
und immer, immer wird sie bei dir sein.

Christina Egan ©2016

Written ten years ago today… How much would I remember without these poems? How much would I remember with photographs? I made an effort to take the moment in without taking photographs…

young honey

~ Christina Egan ~ Leave a comment

young honey

I.

the light lengthens
between blossom
and snow and
blossom

i taste hope
like young honey
drop by
drop

i want to drink
my fill
from the white wine
of your voice

i want to eat
my fill
from the fruit-bread
of your presence

II.

no spring day
bubbling over
fills the cup
of my heart

no full moon
flooding silver
cools the fire
of my hands

a face needs
the shiny mirror
of a face
in the night

i wait for
the morning
i wait more
than the watchman

Christina Egan ©2021

Im Überfluß

~ Christina Egan ~ Leave a comment

Im Überfluß

Im Überfluß,
im Hochgenuß,
im Zuckerguß,

zwischen kunterbunten Ledertaschen,
weltweit angesagten Modemaschen,
wonnespendenden Champagnerflaschen,
zwischen Tischen voller toller Sachen —

bleibt der Mensch doch
arm. Und einsam.
Und verloren…

Denn er hat sich an die Welt verschwendet,
seine Lebenskraft um Geld verpfändet,
seinen Schaffensdrang auf Tand verwendet
und sich gründlich übers Glück verblendet…

Und nun ist er
arm. Und müde.
Und verfroren…

Christina Egan ©2014

yolk-yellow

~ Christina Egan ~ Leave a comment

yolk-yellow

at the turn of the year
at the turn of the sun
I was alive
I was aware

I wandered alone
along the hawthorn hedges
I meandered long
along the galloping brooks

I watched the clouds passing
in the puddle on the path
I caught the kestrel circling
in the corner of my eye

I glimpsed the goldfish
nudging the crust of ice
and the yolk-yellow crocus
breaking out of the earth

I held the pinecone
in the hollow of my hand
I held the goldcrest
in the hollow of my heart

Christina Egan ©2024

Tiny bundle of yellow crocusses between massive tree roots, with sparse grass around.

Written in January, when we have only just passed winter solstice, but in the south of England, the first daffodils famously open.

I remembered the goldfish under the ice when I saw the long yellow flowers of the crocuses coming up.

Photograph: Christina Egan ©2017.

First Yellow Day

~ Christina Egan ~ Leave a comment

First Yellow Day

softly
tread softly
on the skin
of the earth

it is stretching
in a warming waterfall
in the royal rays
of the newborn sun

it is pushing
slender green bodies
and fragile fair heads
out of dark sleep

it is breathing
slowly for you
so breathe
breathe slowly

newborn is the grass
newborn is the year
weightless is the day
weightless is your heart

faded stacked shapes
are filling with colour
like care-worn faces
are smoothed and flushed

and smiles are rising
like yellow balloons
effortless guileless
into boundless blue

Christina Egan ©2019

Abstract painting of bright squares and rectangles in blue, green, orange, and yellow tones.
Paul Klee: Polyphony (1932). Kunstmuseum Basel.

Written on a warm and sunny day in late February. Climate change is palpable, but sometimes it is pleasant…

Kupferheer / Mondenkraft

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Kupferheer

Tiger verstecken sich
vor seinem Mut,
Wildbäche schwinden
vor seiner Stärke,
Kupfer verblaßt
vor seiner Hoheit:

Mars naht
in fraglosem Bogen,
sammelt die Seinen,
Männer und Frauen,
nach seinem Bilde
gemünzt und poliert.

Ein Trompetenstoß,
und sie rollen los,
unsichtbar
und unaufhaltsam.
Nicht Kinder des Zornes:
Kinder der Tat.

Christina Egan ©2023

*

Mondenkraft

Niemals aber enttäuscht
der Mond, ob Sichel,
ob Korb oder Schild,
ob offenes Tor,

ob gleißendes Weißgold,
dem Morgenstern gleich,
ob mattes Perlmutt,
von Buntheit behaucht…

Niemals verweigert
der Mond dem Meere
die Kraft, nie den Glanz
den dürstenden Gliedern,

ja, noch durch Nebel,
Gewölk und Gewitter
verströmt er Frieden,
bewegt er das Blut.

Christina Egan ©2023

Copper Army and Moon Force were written on the same day. Why is the planet Mars deemed to bring anger and our Moon to cause melancholy? According to these poems, the planet Mars gives courage and force, while the Moon grants calm and force!