Without My Reach
I could have been and should have been
An eagle’s nest upon a hill –
An apple-tree beside a stream –
A lighthouse, fiery and still –
I might have been a misty beach
Absorbing some infinity –
The crescent moon within my reach –
I could have been myself – maybe –
Christina Egan ©2019
English Poems
Have You Felt the Wind Today?
Heute schon den Wind gespürt?
Heute schon den Wind gespürt,
einen glatten Baum berührt,
eine süße Nuß verzehrt,
einen Amselruf gehört:
Heute schon gelebt?
Heute schon im Kreis getanzt,
heute schon ein Wort gepflanzt,
eine Hoffnung aufgetaut,
einen Menschen angeschaut:
Heute schon gelebt?
Christina Egan ©2016
Have You Felt the Wind Today?
Have you felt the wind today,
traced a tree-bark’s ruddy glaze,
lingered on a peanut’s taste,
listened to a blackbird’s voice:
Have you lived today?
Have you danced around, around,
sowed a word into the ground,
freed a hope from crusts of ice,
marvelled at a human face:
Have you lived today?
Christina Egan ©2024
Photograph of walnuts: Gokhan Tek via Pixabay. – Photograp of tree-bark:: Christina Egan ©2013.
Presence (Peace)
Presence
Peace
is
not
quietness.
It is a substance,
thriving, throbbing.
It is a cottage garden,
a sculptor’s workshop,
a wedding banquet.
Peace is true life,
wave on wave.
Peace…
Silence
is
not
a void.
It is a space,
flowing, glowing.
It is a pristine stream,
an endless symphony,
it is a whirling galaxy.
Silence is presence,
drop by drop.
Silence!
Christina Egan ©2024
Photograph: The spiral galaxy NGC 4414. The Hubble Heritage Team (AURA/STScI/NASA)NASA Headquarters – Greatest Images of NASA (NASA-HQ-GRIN), Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons.
sommersiegel / summer’s seal
sommersiegel
brüchige seide
brüchiges laub
leuchtendes heute
zauber aus staub
triefende wiesen
lohender mohn
siehst du das siegel
spürst du den sporn
dies ist das leben
nah ist der tod
hörst du sie reden
blume blutrot
Christina Egan ©2016
summer’s seal
brittle green garment
leaves over grass
luminous moment
magic from dust
glistening fields
poppy on fire
look at the seal
hurt from the spur
life is right here
nearing is death
listen to her
flower blood-red
Christina Egan ©2024
The poem is held together, apart from the images, by its sounds and its rhythm, dynamic but regular. It is best enjoyed read aloud, as is true for all poetry.
The translation, or re-creation, has only near-rhymes or vaguely similar sounds, but so does the original!
The version in another language had to balance the meaning, the sounds, and the rhythm of the words.
Secret Flute / Flötenton
Secret Flute
The cups stand empty, steady, calm.
The candle glows: a secret flute.
The rose releases dazzling balm.
The things are silent: but not mute.
Christina Egan © 2013
Flötenton
Die Tassen stehen leer und ganz gelassen.
Die Kerzenflamme ist ein Flötenton.
Die Rose schüttet Süße aus in Massen.
Die Dinge schweigen; doch sie sind nicht stumm.
Christina Egan © 2013
The usefulness of a pot lies in its emptiness.
Lao-tse
Photograph: Christina Egan © 2009
Riders of the Whales
Riders of the Whales
I turn my face towards you
the riders of the waves
the riders of the whales
not as masters
but as friends
I lay the shimmering isles
into your unknown hands
I lift my smile
like a bright-blue flag
to one who wields the wand
and strikes the rock
to turn the wasteland
velvety and fragrant
once again
I lift my cup
of bittersweet brew
to one who turns the wheel
and shifts the clouds
to make the frosty stream
a sparkling wall
once again
I sweep the ashes
and lay the bricks
I feed the seeds for you
I grow the words for you
I beg your forgiveness
and scatter blessings on you
the yet unborn
Christina Egan ©2021
The Lake and the Rain
The Lake and the Rain
The lake is a mirror
of willow and reed,
a sheet of opaque
and buckled glass
whose bulges break
the billowing leaves
and swaying stalks,
so that the strokes
of umbra and ochre,
of olive and lime
form ever new patterns…
And then the drizzle
adds ripple on ripple,
painting an intricate
pulsing design
of circles and squares,
flashing and fleeting,
never repeating…
never depleted…
never completed…
It all has a meaning,
It all, maybe, matters.
Christina Egan ©2022
Summer Rain (II)
The summer clouds, the summer sun
are dazzling on the little lake,
the summer wind, the summer rain
are writing on its shiny slate.
You need not know the ancient script,
you need not know the ancient tongue:
the message echoes in your chest,
the summer rain, the summer sun.
Christina Egan ©2023
The first poem resembles a Cubist painting of overlapping and breaking shapes in sombre earthy colours: nature viewed as an abstract painting, or rather, a composition in permanent motion.
The second poem reads the rain on the lake as a secret message, perhaps like the ancient declarations on the Rosetta Stone… We may not be able to decipher or understand the message sufficiently, but it is there!
Everything reflects everything else… and perhaps the whole world reflects a higher world. All this beauty and meaning can be found in the smallest slice of nature, in the pond down the road.
Pulling the Curtain Aside
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.
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.
Who Watches the Dusk?
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
young honey
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



