LIFE CYCLES

Mitte des Lebens / alles ist möglich

~ Christina Egan ~ Leave a comment

Mitte des Lebens

Das Leben hatte Überfluß versprochen
und sog dich an, ein buntes Labyrinth;
schon mittendrin hat es sein Wort gebrochen,
und deine Klagen stürzen in den Wind.
Was auch von heute an geschehen möge,
mag unerwartet sein und wunderbar,
du magst’s als Lust erfahren oder Segen,–
doch ist es nicht, was dir verheißen war.

Garden furniture jumbled up by storm in front of old wooden shed.
Photograph: Christina Egan ©2012.

Die Zeit flieht schneller, immer schneller hin,
und desto mehr, je weniger verbleibt…
Die Hoffnung, die doch unerschöpflich schien,
verkehrt sich langsam doch in Bitterkeit:
Denn zuviel Tun und Trachten war vergebens
– auch jenes, das vernünftig war und rein –
und wird es bleiben, trotz geballten Strebens,
und war vergebens schon von vornherein.

Christina Egan ©2013

Tiny weeds coming out of cracks, with their shadows.
Photograph: Christina Egan ©2020.

alles ist möglich

nicht alles ist glücklich
nicht alles ist richtig
doch alles ist wirklich
und alles ist wichtig
 
nicht alles ist füglich
nicht alles ist fertig
doch alles ist möglich
und schon gegenwärtig

Christina Egan ©2011

Two philosophical poem with few images.

The first one surveys someone’s life, with joys and blessings and surprises still ahead, but with prospects already limited and some hopes crushed.

The second poem breathes awareness, acceptance, confidence: “Everything is important… Everything is possible”! Is it about life in the moment?

Past Poppies / Zimtsterne

~ Christina Egan ~ Leave a comment

In the Past, there were Poppies

In the past, there were poppies
amidst the cornfields,
and coconut chocolates,
and stars in the sky.

Starships, too, shooting
through tunnels in time –
we would doubtlessly board them
on the boundless quest.

Christina Egan ©2022

Nach Zimtsternen duftete die Welt

Nach Zimtsternen duftete die Welt
oder nach Zwetschgenkuchen und Kakao.
Jeder Morgen war ein Malkasten,
und jegliches Wetter machte Spaß.

Mit dem Strandkorb segelte man übers Meer
und mit dem Stockbett sogar unterm Meer.
Und übermorgen wäre man wirklich dort,
auf Madagaskar oder auf der Alm.

Christina Egan ©2024

The German poem was written as a pendant to the English poem. For children, there is no need for confidence or hope: their belief in the future is so firm that it feels like knowledge. There is no doubt you will be an explorer or an inventor or an artist, or a mother or father, or anything else…

The poppies and the stars are not just images for the happiness of childhood: there were flowers in the crop fields before pesticides eradicated them, and there were more stars visible until pollution veiled them. ‘Cinnamon stars’ are typical Christmas biscuits and cake covered with fresh plums a typical summer treat.

I suppose the ideas for travelling over land, over sea, under the sea, and in outer space stem from the timeless masterpiece Heidi, the unsurpassable television series Star Trek, the science-fiction novel Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea, and the documentary novel for children, Monika fährt nach Madagaskar.

 

Kreuzung / Vollmondtraum

~ Christina Egan ~ Leave a comment

Kreuzung

Zwei unbekannte Augenpaare
begegnen sich mit einemmal:
Ein Windstoß fährt durch dunkle Haare;
auf goldnen Haaren glimmt ein Strahl.

Und plötzlich kreuzen sich die Schritte,
als pflügten sie denselben Ort.
Ein Lächeln liegt auf deinen Lippen;
auf meinen Lippen brennt ein Wort.

Christina Egan ©2021

***

Vollmondtraum

Klare Sterne schreiben heute
eine Botschaft in den Raum:
Du bist meine neue Freude,
dein Gesicht mein Vollmondtraum.

Frag’ nicht deinen grellen Spiegel,
wer der Schönste sei im Land:
Hält mein Sinn doch kaum die Zügel,
ist mein Blick doch schon gebannt.

Frag’ nicht, was an dir verwelke,
was verblasse übers Jahr:
wichtig ist mir jedes Fältchen,
kostbar jedes graue Haar.

Frag’ nicht, was dir heute fehle,–
heute habe ich dich gern.
Sieh, dir leuchtet deine Seele
aus den Augen wie ein Stern.

Christina Egan ©2021

One poem has a person with dark hair and a person with fair hair falling in love at first sight. In German, the words for ‘junction’ and ‘to cross’ come from the same root: ‘Kreuzung’ and ‘kreuzen’.

The other poem describes a beautiful beloved man (or, by changing one word, a woman) with greying hair. The stars write the lover’s delight onto the sky, and the beloved one’s soul shines like a star.

speaking through a mask / masked ball

~ Christina Egan ~ Leave a comment

speaking through a mask

I am writing on the wall
in lurid colours
painting mouthless faces
naming faceless fears
the hydra of the mutating germ
the wheel of the rotating power
filling the space by the street
with the sunflower yellow of hope
one day it will be overwritten
by times to come and poets to come

Christina Egan ©2021

masked ball (2021)

faces half brown half bluish
faces half white half scarlet
eyes half compassion half suspicion
eyes half hope half fear

muffled by makeshift masks
we pass each other in haste
in the high road in the car park
at the chemist’s in the churchyard

we step left we step right
or we turn our backs
in a staccato dance
a bizarre masked ball

two layers of paper
between us and a fog of fatigue
two layers of cotton
between us and a grip round the throat

half-masked half-hidden at last
from the hidden bulging eyes
from the sleepless blinking brains
of total control

we scurry off or stride off
into the maze of lanes
where even the action men
on the walls wear masks

faces half brown half bluish
faces half white half scarlet
we are mutating towards
a stronger strain of humankind

Christina Egan ©2021

The poem speaking through a mask was inspired by photographs in the Tottenham Community Press and published by the same newspaper in TCP Issue 43, February 2021. It continues as the Haringey Community Press.

Tottenham is full of art in in very bright colours: graffiti on walls, mosaics on houses, paintings on roll-shutters of shops…

The fear expressed in these lines is of the malicious pandemic as well as of total surveillance. The masks gave us a chance to protect us from both to an extent.

I had great hopes that the pandemic would change our society to become more local, sustainable, authentic, co-operative, considerate… more healthy in every respect.

Sadly, only some positive outcomes have persisted against the pressure of ever more exploitation, exhaustion, pollution, production, consumption, and waste.

Image: Red camera eye of HAL 9000 (from ‘2001: A Space Odyssey’).
Julian Mendez, CC BY-SA 3.0, via Wikimedia Commons.

Noch ist nicht aller Tage Abend

~ Christina Egan ~ Leave a comment
Two storks in a nest, standing very close together, surmounted by a triangular tree and a steep roof, in the dusk.
Photograph: Storks’ nest in Wyk on Föhr, Germany. Christina Egan ©2014.

Noch ist nicht aller Tage Abend

Noch ist nicht aller Tage Abend,
der Sommer noch nicht ausgebrannt,
noch will die Feige Frucht dir tragen,
entfaltet sich dir ohne Fragen
die Erde ohne Riß und Rand.

Noch ist nicht aller Nächte Morgen,
noch paßt der Mond in deine Hand!
Noch ziehen Störche gegen Norden,
noch will der Wildbach überborden…
Noch harrt die Perle dir im Sand.

Christina Egan ©2021

My birthday poem for myself!
Images of ebullient life-force built on
the proverb “It is not the last evening yet”.

See last year’s post Still Here (Still striding)
and a poem written for a 50th birthday,
Eat the World (When you get older)!

Silvester / It Is Harvest

~ Christina Egan ~ Leave a comment

Silvester

Wunderkerzen sprühen
und verglühen,
Sektbläschen blinken
und sinken…
und ein Gedanke blitzt auf!

Word cloud in warm colours; in the middle: "still", "rising", "faces", "leaves", "life".

Mit jedem Tag,
der dir entschwindet,
wirst du reicher
an Erlebnis,
an Erfahrung.

Mit jedem Jahr,
das dir verwelkt,
wächst du
an Geduld,
an Gelassenheit.

Christina Egan © 2013

It Is Harvest

Burning sparkler on black background, looking like a supernova!

So you thought life was past?
It has only begun.
For whatever you’ve lost
there is something you’ve won.
For whatever you’ve missed
there is something you’ve learned.
It is harvest: persist
and reap all that you earned.

Christina Egan ©2008

Photograph by Gabriel Pollard [CC BY-SA 2.5].
Featured picture on Wikimedia Commons.

650 poems posted on this site !

Happy New Year to everyone!

Word cloud in warm colours; in the middle: "still", "rising", "faces", "leaves", "life".

This is the word cloud (not of the tags but of the texts) of all English poems posted on this site in the past year. Another year of love and life and leaves… and of mass consumption, mass media, and mass murder.

With thanks to the excellent tool Simple Word Cloud Generator!

Trefflich (Gazakrieg)

~ Christina Egan ~ Leave a comment

Trefflich

Ach, wozu noch Meeresblau
je beschwören und wozu
Wellenschlag und Morgentau,
wenn ein Paar bestickter Schuh
bunt aus Schutt und Asche schaut,
– angefaucht und fortgefegt –
und die namenlose Braut
nie mehr ihre Füße hebt,
nie ein Kind zum Himmel hält…
Ach, wie bleibt das Meer bloß blau?
Denn es stirbt die ganze Welt,
frißt der Drache eine Frau.
Fällt die Kugel einen Mann,
klagt ein ganzes Engelheer.
Lautlos schreit ein Schlüsselbund
a­­us dem Schrott,– doch hört ihn wer?
Paßt der Schlüssel auch ins Schloß,
hängt die Tür in schräger Wand,
denn ein treffliches Geschoß
riß das Haus halb in den Sand.
Immer wieder gibt es Krieg
voller Lügen, voller Lärm.
Niemals aber gibt es Sieg,
nur die Hoffnung wie ein Stern.

Christina Egan ©2024
(Gazakrieg)

In this poem, War is personalised as a hissing dragon burning, devouring, or blasting away everything in its way.

The title is a pun on an old word for “excellent”, literally “hitting precisely”: in a war, success is based on destruction.

On October 7th, 2023, the Palestinian terror organisation Hamas committed a massacre and mass abduction in Israel, whereupon the Israeli Government launched a war on the Palestinian territory of Gaza. It has since attacked the West Bank and invaded neighbouring country Lebanon, where the terror organisation Hezbollah de facto rules. The aim on both sides is evidently genocide. This is destruction against destruction, revenge upon revenge, genocide versus genocide.

I am Singing my Song

~ Christina Egan ~ Leave a comment

I am Singing my Song

Jug in shiny bright colours (yellow, red, blue, black) in front of yellow cloth..

My life is not about me:
It is about the mountains
rising all around the horizon
in the dense blue of dreams.
It is about the mud I am made of,
the little trees which I must water,
the tall trees which give me breath.
It is about the rivers around me,
running, running without rest
and singing without doubt.

My face is priceless:
My face is mine alone, and
an echo of my ancestors’ faces,
a signal of my descendants’ faces.
My face is a sacred lake,
a blurred mirror of the sky,
of the mountains and trees.
I am drinking the sun,
I am walking my way,
I am singing my song.

Christina Egan ©2022

Inspired by Navajo and other
Native American philosophy.

Navajo pottery. Photograph:
Woody Hibbard, CC BY 2.0,
via Wikimedia Commons.

Word cloud in green, red, blue, black on yellow. Words in the middle: singing, about, face, song, trees.
Word cloud in green, red, blue, black on yellow. Words in the middle: singing, about, face, song, trees.
Word cloud in green, red, blue, black on yellow, simply typed up as a square.

Three word clouds of this poem: one typed up on a Word document with all repetitions, two designed on the Simple Word Cloud Generator (left) and WordItOut (right), with the frequency of the words represented by their size and position. (You can click on the images to enlarge them.)

Via WordItOut, you can order badges or key-rings with the right-hand word cloud.

The Red Helicopter (Tottenham)

~ Christina Egan ~ Leave a comment

The Red Helicopter
(Tottenham)

Some of us are pushing the swings
in the park, a powerful pendulum,
some are hurrying for their daily bread,
counting the pennies in their pockets,
and all are treading on rustling leaves,
fallen too soon, too soon this year,
for the world is brittle with heat
and creaking and breaking apart.

The rain has come and gone
but the clouds have stayed:
No rainbow today
over the weathered church.
The blue emerges, the brightness
of grass, of the thousand things,
and the old oak stands smiling.
Higher the swings go and higher –

Then the sky bursts
with the lion’s roar
of the helicopter, closer, close,
here, the colour of blood.
And we look at each other
and fear the worst and
know it has happened
again.

A street between brick walls,
a random courtyard
or a random corner
has been stained,
and from the earth cries
someone’s blood,
someone’s brother’s blood,
our brother’s blood.

Christina Egan ©2023

I have seen the red helicopter of the emergency services land in parks in Tottenham (Lordship Recreation Ground and Bruce Castle Park). In both cases it was the middle of the day, and in both cases, a teenager had been stabbed, once fatally and once nearly so. Another young man was shot and left to die in Tottenham Cemetery. All these green spaces are vast and idyllic.

See Himmelblaue Uhr (Tottenham) for Bruce Castle Park as a haven of tranquillity and Gedächtnisgarten zu Tottenham for the old cemetery as a garden of peace.

schweben und leben…

~ Christina Egan ~ 2 Comments

schweben und leben…

ich bin der schmetterling
der hoch am himmel hing

und flimmerte
und schimmerte

so daß der mensch der unten stand
als dunkler punkt im bunten park

den kopf hob und verwundert fand
wie hell die welt sei und wie stark –

wie klein er sei –
wie weit und frei

mein winziges und kurzes leben
in dem ich jubeln darf und schweben…

eben
leben…

Christina Egan ©2020

*

Peacock butterfly, its bright-red and patterned wings spread out against a delicate green and white plant.

What makes these musings verse is sound, rhyme, and rhythm. To read aloud!

*

This poem was published in the Münsterschwarzacher Bildkalender 2023, on the back of this beautiful image. (Photograph: Peacock butterfly. kie-ker via Pixabay.)

*

It was inspired by a poem by Josef Haselberger. We have written and exchanged
poetry for a very long time. I have several friends who are poets, and so does he.