The Mooness Grows
The Mooness grows: she’s almost round.
She steps out of a wooded mound.
She knows:
The sea will swell, the sap will well,
a thousand creatures will give birth.
The earth
is restless, waiting for Queen Moon
and for King Sun to round her girth,
her life.
The fruit is red, the fruit is ripe.
The Mooness strews her silent spell:
She glows.
Christina Egan © 2016
Die Mondin rollt
Die Mondin rollt, ein Bronzegong,
vom vielgezackten Horizont
das königsblaue Rund empor.
Ihr hoheitsvoller Ruf erschallt,
bis alles bebend widerhallt
in Stein und Blatt, in Bein und Ohr.
Noch einmal steigt, noch einmal loht
nach Mittagsglut und Abendrot
des vollen Sommers Vollmondschein.
Der Bronzegong um Mitternacht
hat neues Leben angefacht
in Ohr und Bein, in Blatt und Stein.
Christina Egan © 2016
These two poems about the ‘Mooness’ are very similar (and written at the same time) but not translations of each other.
In Greek and Latin, the moon is linguistically and mythologically female, and we should have such a word in English and German.
As a woman, I feel instinctively related to the powerful moon and all life cycles — irrespective of reproductive capacity or activity.
Christina Egan 