Radiance
You did not see the star
touching your chimney
nor did you feel the moon
touching your shoulder.
You yearned for the shift of the seasons,
expected the change of the clocks,
but not the shift of the colours,
the liquid gold in the air.
You did not see your radiance,
but someone else did,
your grace that carries like scent
before you have spoken a word.
When the sky was blue glass,
when the moon was a sphere,
a hand held up a mirror,
a wind kissed your hair.
Christina Egan ©2021
Spring
Frühlingsanfangsvorfreude
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.
A Speck in the Dark
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!
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!
Der Nebel hebt sich
Der Nebel hebt sich
(Schloß Fasanerie bei Fulda)
Der Nebel hebt sich,
und der Rauhreif auf den Weiden,
feine Spitze, glitzert auf.
Aus dichten Fichtenschirmen sprühn
kapellenglockenhelle
Stimmen ohne Zahl.
Ein Vöglein folgt, dort oben, sieh,
mit dunklen Flügeln, gelber Brust,
ein Sonnenstrahl!
Ein niedrer Wolkenstreif muß weichen,
und der bleiche Mond, des Dunkels Geist,
desgleichen.
Der ausgelaugte Himmel blaut,
der federnd-feste Boden taut,
gurgelt und gärt…
Noch wehrt der Winter sich,–
bezwungen ist er schon.
Die Erde atmet wieder tiefer…
Und wer nur auf den Hügel steigt
und schaut und hört und spürt,
kriegt neue Kraft und Lust!
Christina Egan © 2017
A new poetic form: three lines in each stanza, with irregular lenght and irregular rhymes — but each stanza having ten stressed syllables, with one unstressed syllable in between, making the flow of the language regular, natural and musical at the same time!
The poem was written on February 14th. The Rhön mountains have a harsh climate with long winters characterised by cold and snow and fog. All the more is spring welcome, even the early signs of it…
Blue Cloud
Blue Cloud
Framed by the rubber
of the rolling windows,
the shifting squares
of terraced houses,
the sliding panels
of allotment fences
it appears
again:
a bolt of blue,
the sky in a cloud,
an armful of May –
my cyanothus!
And masked and
unfolding again
and past and
afloat in my eyes…
Christina Egan © 2008
A tiny light-blue Cyanothus. The one in the poem was a massive tree with almost indigo flowers. I never cease to marvel at the blue blossom. See also Under the Blue Bloom of the Tree.
Photograph: Christina Egan © 2017.
im angesicht der sonne
im angesicht der sonne
im angesicht der sonne
steht aufrecht
und einsam
die erste osterglocke
auferstanden
aus der schweren schwarzen erde
freudestrahlend
daß es endlich lichter werde
winterwendend
düftespendend
sich verschwendend
sonnengleich
Christina Egan © 2019
Für Sr. Petra de Resurgente
Services for Easter morning: “Sunday of the Resurrection”. —
Photograph: by ignis [CC BY-SA 3.0], via Wikimedia Commons.
Purple Dusk (Bankside, London)
Nocturne in Purple and Grey
(Bankside, London)
Hemmed with the sequins of lamps
the silver carpet of the river,
the lilac scarves of the bridges, the buildings.
People are blown about like brown leaves.
A few boats float, dozing,
awaiting brighter days.
The hues of lily and lavender
rise, for a moment, and blend,
with a pale memory of their scents.
Great and grey, the river strides past,
great and grey, the moment slides past,
like a graceful line of wild geese.
Christina Egan © 2005
An early-spring impression in pale lilac and silvery grey. Bankside is the southern shore of the Thames in London.
Many years after I wrote those lines, I noticed the similarity with Turner’s mesmerising Nocturnes and renamed the text!
For a German poem depicting purple dusk see ostseeschlaflied (Darß).
Nocturne in Blue and Gold. Oil painting by J. A. M. Whistler, showing Battersea Bridge in London, ca. 1872-1875. Tate Gallery, London.
Silent Roads
Silent Roads
(Pandemic)
limpid morning
liquid noon
falling stars and
swelling moon
roaming foxes
flitting bats
passing faces
passing steps
real colours
newborn light
flowing hours
breathing tide
sweeping herons
floating boats
swelling meadows
silent roads
real flavour
real sound
real labour
on the ground
nimble hands and
muddy boots
curling vines and
twisting roots
real treasures
on your spade
real colours
on your plate
real paper
flowing ink
time to wake and
time to think
time to sleep and
time to slow
time to weep and
time to grow
time to rise and
to rejoice
time to hoist your
real voice
Christina Egan © 2020
While London closed down to protect itself from the 2020 coronavirus, I was cut off from my job and from the internet for a while. (This blog ran on as pre-scheduled.)
I was very fortunate to spend many hours outdoors, working in my garden or walking under the countless trees and along the hidden rivers of London, and through the suburban roads, cleared at last of traffic and crowds. Spring brought splendid sunshine, as if it were already high summer.
There was time. There was air. There was life. For many who were not ill or caring for those who were ill, this must have been one of the best times of their life.
Tottenham Marshes / Tottenham Cemetery. Photographs: Christina Egan © 2020.
Gedächtnisgarten zu Tottenham
Gedächtnisgarten zu Tottenham
Wie Sternennebel
schweben die schneeweißen Büsche
im Nachtgrün am Rande des Parks,
und aus dem sattschwarzen Grunde
ruft ihrer mehr herauf
das funkelnde Zepter des Mondes,
als lebte der Amsel Perlengesang
das Dunkel hindurch.
Wie übergroße Urwaldblüten
liegen in Schlaf geschmiegt
die silbernen Gänse,
erfroren geglaubte Träume
verlorengegebener Kraft.
Der Duft von überallher
ist schwer, er wiegt,
er ist wirklich.
Die Rinnen der Inschrift
im Granit des Gartentors
füllen sich langsam mit Sinn:
Garten des Friedens.
Christina Egan © 2006
Memorial Garden, Tottenham Cemetery. Photograph: Christina Egan © 2013.
Bloomsbury, on the Ides of May
Bloomsbury, on the Ides of May
I will remember: it was on the Ides of May,
the light was lingering late, still bright behind
the fading curtains of clouds, ready to burst
into colourful banners; so were the buds in the parks.
Short were the shades of the columns and those of the crowds
ceaselessly weaving around the corners of concrete.
I will remember the weary assembly of tombstones,
too weathered to count as a witness, the lime-green life
pushing out from the cracks, the benches eager for laughter,
the birds’ unheeded, untiring, Vespers to God.
See: I lay down the unspoken secret in verse.
Christina Egan © 2007
Photograph (taken in Tottenham
in July): Christina Egan © 2013.
Christina Egan 