SEASONS

Shooting-stars (Damp Wood)

~ Christina Egan ~ Leave a comment

Shooting-stars

Damp wood, damp walls: the world smells of decay.
The scented roses are resurgent, yet
too many leaves are falling, fallen, wet
across the spotless lawn, the winding way.
Above Bruce Castle’s reddish parapet
and wayward weather-vane, the veil of grey
is torn apart to let a dazzling ray
caress the clock-face, still for summer set.
The light is fierce and will not be subdued,
the clock smiles sky-blue with a rim of gold,
the grass is glittering and fresh and bold,
and then the sky itself triumphs, renewed.
All this eclipsing, flash on flash, they pass:
the parakeets, a dozen shooting-stars.

Christina Egan ©2020

Turret painted in pink, with bright-blue clockface and golden weather-vane, under a blue sky.
Bruce Castle, Tottenham, England.
Photograph: Christina Egan ©2017.

This sonnet was read at an
event of Tottenham Trees
at Bruce Castle Museum
in November 2024, together
with Thought Bench and
Hollow Oak (Anglo-Saxon spell).

I Do Not Ask for Love / A Thousand Leaves

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I Do Not Ask for Love

I do not ask for love,
for I have none to give –
and yet I beg for life,
for leave to make you live,

to live as if the day
were fitting like a glove,
to breathe as if to pray
to beauty were enough,

to tremble as if time
had finished or begun,
to let two faces shine
as if two hearts were one.

I do not ask for words
of last or lasting love,
I cannot offer worlds –
one kiss shall be enough.

Christina Egan ©2006

Maple leaf, close-up, flaming golden and orange against dull background.

A Thousand Leaves

A thousand leaves in brownish bronze,
a thousand leaves thrust by the wind,
a rustling sea… a jostling crowd…
And then, with sudden sunset glint,
with guileless smile, one reaches out.

Christina Egan ©2010

Sycamore leaf. Photograph: Christina Egan ©2020.

Parkbank im Herbst

~ Christina Egan ~ Leave a comment

Autumn colours: tree with bright orange leaves, some fallen onto the ground.Parkbank im Herbst

Glühend hängt im Geäst,
welches sich klaglos entblättert,

das hehre Gestirn,
blendend und fern,

ein verspäteter König
ohne Gefolge rosiger Wolken… 

Und ausgeschnitten  aus den Schatten
ersteht ein Geviert von jauchzendem Glanz!

Christina Egan ©2008

Photograph: Christina Egan ©2016.

Buntbetupft

~ Christina Egan ~ Leave a comment

Buntbetupft

Nur
einen
seligen
Sommer,
einen zweiten
und dritten tanzten
du und ich inmitten einer
buntbetupften Wiese unter dem
Summen der Hüpfer und Hummeln,
unter des Bussards hoher Wacht.
Und keiner von uns beiden
wußte, was bliebe,
und keiner
nannte es
Liebe.
Aber
das Leben
war gegeben,
wie es nur Kindern ist,
Heiligen oder Toren oder eben
Liebenden, und die Freude war stark
wie die Pracht der Mittsommersonne.
Die Erde war rund und bunt, und
ihre Haut duftete uns! Wir
drehten uns schnell,
alles drehte sich
um uns, es
war ein
Heute,
hell.

Christina Egan ©2021

Drawing of three old-fashioned spinning tops.

The shape of the poem emulates two children holding hands and whirling around, or two spinning-tops…

Illustration from ‘Children’s games throughout the year’ (1949) by Leslie Daiken.

rosengarten (I. tiefversteckt)

~ Christina Egan ~ Leave a comment

rosengarten

I. tiefversteckt

wieviele monde sind uns noch beschieden
die ungeahnten sonnenglanz vergießen
wieviele rosen werden uns noch sprießen
aus blut und duft als wäre leben lieben?
wieviele strände dürfen wir genießen
im wilden norden und im kargen süden
wo winde endlos sich mit wellen wiegen
wieviele sommer sind uns noch geblieben?
du bist der tiefversteckte rosengarten
den ich nach langem suchen langem warten
betrübt doch immer hoffnungsvoll betrat.
du bist der mond der gleich der sonne leuchtet
du bist die brandung die den sand befeuchtet
du bist die erde wie am ersten tag.

Christina Egan ©2023

This sonnet forms the basis of a cycle of 14 poems, whereby each line furnishes the first line of a new sonnet (Continental pattern). Watch this space for the rose garden project (ROSENGARTEN).

This cycle is not about gardens alone or about islands, although many far-flung places will be reflected in these lines: it is about finding love and happiness, going through life together, finding liveable spaces…

Word cloud in reddish and yellowish colours on green; in the middle, "how many" "rose gardens", and a question mark.

Word cloud of ten German sonnets (rosengarten I-X),
generated on the Simple Word Cloud Generator.
In the chance arrangement, words picked out
by size and colour form the sentence:
“how many rose gardens where we,
(O) you, may yet live?”

P.S.:
You can now view a word cloud of all 14 sonnets at WordItOut
and have it printed on a mousemat or mug or fridge magnet!

Sonnwendfeuer

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Sonnwendfeuer

Aus Scheiterhaufen, ungeheuer,
glimmt an den Säumen lautlos Feuer:
Die finstern Wolken sind durchlichtet,
als Sonnwendfeuer aufgeschichtet!
Ein Rosenhag, verhundertfacht
an Anmut und an Farbenpracht…
Und dann erstrahlt am Horizont
ein feingeschliffner neuer Mond.

Christina Egan ©2022

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.

Frühlingsanfangsvorfreude

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Frühlingsanfangsvorfreude

Das Spiel des Lichtes und das Spiel der Winde
auf goldnem Haar und goldnem Mauermoos,
die Käferlandschaft rauher brauner Rinde
und große Schmetterlinge, schwerelos…

Hundertmal dieselbe Runde drehen,
wenn zuletzt die Lebenskraft verfällt,–
aber nie hat man sich sattgesehen,
nie am Erdkreis noch am Himmelszelt!

Blaue Gaukeleien: Himmelssplitter!
Feuerfarbne Falter: Funkenflug!
Vogelchor, Geläute und Gewitter,–
niemals trinken Aug und Ohr genug.

Christina Egan ©2023

The title means “Looking forward at the beginning of spring” in one word: “spring-beginning-forward-joy”! A poem about old age, full of hope and zest. It was written on spring equinox, after a walk round the block with a very aged person. Poignantly, soon after, the person grew too weak for walks.

The Komodo Dragons

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The Komodo Dragons

The roots of the forest are trembling,
the branches are frosted with fear.
The jeeps and the tanks are assembling.
The komodo dragons are near.

Their skin’s like the ice on the river,
they graze and they raze all that breathes.
The roofs of the cottages shiver.
The earth has gone silent. She grieves.

The earth has lost too many children
before the full moon could return.
The komodo dragons are grinning.
The roofs of the cottages burn.

The stable aflame and the steeple –
the ice on the river now thaws.
This is not the war of the people.
This is the triumph of the jaws.

Christina Egan ©2022

This poem was published (as The Comodo Dragons) in the Haringey Community Press (circulation 15,000) in May 2022.

Photograph: Dezidor, CC-BY-3.0, via Wikimedia Commons.

Komodo dragons got their name because they appear to be mythical creatures, but are real animals, huge lizards which can devour their prey almost without trace.

Two years ago today, the Ukraine was brutally attacked by the military machinery of another country.

When we fear with and grieve with the Ukraine, there are always echos of the Second World War, the First World War, and other wars. My verse is influenced by the famous sonnet Andreas Gryphius wrote in the midst of the Thirty Years’ War, Thrähnen des Vaterlandes / Anno 1636 (Tears of the Fatherland).

A Speck in the Dark

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A Speck in the Dark

Grey buildings, grey branches,
black streets in the rain…
Dark coats and pale faces,
white sky yet again.

Drained off is the rainbow:
there’s shade and there’s rust.
Smudged world in the window,
and noon feels like dusk.

There: sunrise is flashing,
an orange-red spark,
with sky-blue unfolding –
a speck in the dark!

Western bluebird, Washington State. Photograph: Vickie J Anderson. CC BY-SA 4.0 via Wikimedia Commons.

The bluebird’s alighting
on quivering twigs;
the buds were awaiting
a signal like this!

The bluebird is glowing,
alive and alert,
and colours are brewing
in heaven and earth.

Christina Egan ©2018

A January poem from a northern part of Europe… The bluebird does not live here, but it got into the poem because its feathers are of a luminous orange and blue like the sun and the sky!