Der bunte Staub / The Multi-Coloured Dust

Der bunte Staub

Der bunte Staub auf meinem Fensterbrett
– ein Häufchen Blütenblätter, ausgebleicht –
verwandelt sich im Abendsonnenlicht
in einen Schatz, dem kein Geschmeide gleicht.

Christina Egan © 2014

Little vase with flowers in lemon yellow, pale blue, deep pink and red; some petals scattered beneath; garden in background.

The Multi-Coloured Dust

The multi-coloured dust flocks on my desk 
– a heap of petals fading gradually –
gets now transformed by sunshine from the West
into a hoard surpassing jewellery.

Christina Egan © 2015

You can also find petals decaying to dust in the
German hymn Spiritum Sanctum vivificantem.

Photograph: Christina Egan © 2013

höhlenmenschen / cavemen

höhlenmenschen

die treppe rollt
hinab hinab
die u-bahn grollt
fährt ein fährt ab

der tunnel biegt sich
durch die nacht
der aufzug hebt sich
aus dem schacht

die masse schiebt sich
durch die schlucht
ein wabern webt sich
in die luft

ein sonnenstrahl
blitzt auf vom glas
ein vogelschwarm
stiebt auf vom gras

der rest ist schatten
stahl und stein
dies ist die stadt
tritt ein tritt ein

Christina Egan © 2015

cavemen

the staircase bores
into the ground
the tube train roars
goes round and round

the tunnel bends
through rock through black
the lift ascends
the narrow gap

the masses heave
through deep ravines
fumes waft and weave
through all these streams

a glint of sun
reflects off glass
a pigeon swarm
explodes from grass

the rest is shadow
steel and stone
this is the city
welcome home

Christina Egan © 2015


This poem — created in parallel in both languages — questions the notion of progress by observing its epitome, the world city, with its underground tunnels and dark gorges between skyscapers.

You can read more laments about the strain of our urban environment in the previous post, Amidst the rush / Schrumpft die Welt, and find some relief in When Webs of Steel / Von stählernen Waben.

Amidst the Rush / Schrumpft die Welt

Amidst the Rush

Amidst the rush, the silent crowds,
the glaring lamps, the blaring sounds,
I sink into a narrow seat,
a circling thought, a fleeting sleep…

Christina Egan © 2015

— 

Give me Two Minutes in the Sun

Give me two minutes in the sun,
give me two minutes in the breeze,
above the roofs, above the trees,
above the dust, above the din –
Give me five yards to stretch and spin,
give me a bench to look and breathe
before I must descend again –
Give me two minutes in the sun!

Christina Egan © 2015

Schrumpft die Welt

Hängt man vor dem Bildschirm
wie im Schattenreich,
wird das Auge müde
und der Rücken steif,

sieht man von der Weltstadt
eine Backsteinwand
und vom Erdenrunde
einen Rasenrand,

schrumpft die Welt zum Rechteck,
klickt man hin und her,
werden Leib und Seele
rastlos oder schwer…

Streift ein Strahl dein Fenster,
stürzt ins müde Aug –
Pflück den Blick des Himmels,
pflück den Tag und saug!

Christina Egan © 2015

By contrast to the previous post, On the Volcano’s Rim, which evokes an extraordinary experience at an exotic place, these poems describe the most mundane and repetitive of actions: commuting in a big city, working in a modern building, typing on a computer…

Schrumpft die Welt, or Shrinks the World, shows how, squeezed in front of a screen for hours, a person may only feel alive for one moment — when a ray of sunshine brushes his or her desk…

This criticism of contemporary life continues in höhlenmenschen / cavemen, where the tunnels and canyons of a world city resemble the rock dwellings of our distant forbears.

On the Volcano’s Rim

On the Volcano’s Rim

Goldstaub
(Lanzarote)

Hoher blauer Himmel,
weißer Wolkenflug,
ungestüme Winde,
rascher Schattenzug

über rote Halden,
über graue Höhn,
über grüne Matten,
wo schon Sterne stehn:

abertausend Blüten
wie ein Frühlingslied,
Goldstaub, den die Sonne
aus dem Erdreich zieht!

Christina Egan © 2015

Gold Dust
(Lanzarote)

Blue sky, ever higher,
white clouds in full flight,
winds wilful and forceful,
swift change of the light

across the red boulders,
across the grey height,
across the green lichen,
where stars tremble bright:

a flourish of flowers
and spring in a splash,
the gold dust the sun
can draw out of the ash!

Christina Egan © 2015

Dreaming Dragon
(Lanzarote)

Dew-drops sparkling in all colours
on the mighty coal-black craggy
shoulder of a dreaming dragon:
so these tiny tender flowers
perch on the volcano’s terrace –
fire, earth and wind distilled
to a dainty dotted quilt.

Ceaseless gales and sleepless fire,
ashes fed with salty dew –
ocean and volcano brew
flora’s early, lacy layer,
magic carpet in the air,
in the boundless brown and blue…
Dreams are real. Dreams come true.

Christina Egan © 2015

The Hoard
(Lanzarote)

As the mountain bears the flower,
as the giant holds the gem,
so the hour bears my poem:
purple speck on silver stem.

Where a myriad wild flowers
sprout behind the dry-stone wall,
I must gather all my powers
till the heavens hear my call.

Christina Egan © 2015

Valentine on the Volcano
(Lanzarote)

We dance on the volcano’s rim –
although its low and sunken side,
although extinct for centuries –
tossed partly by the wild wind’s whim
and partly drunk with liquid life –
suspended over sky-blue seas!
(I found my love above Teguise!)

Christina Egan © 2015

Plain and mountain range with very dark surfaces, rosy clouds in sky

The little volcano. Photograph: Christina Egan © 2015

These lines all sprang from one of the greatest experiences of my life: climbing a little volcano on the isle of Lanzarote, about which you can find a poetic description in German and English at Isle of Bliss / Insel der Seligkeit.

Gold Dust and The Hoard could equally be set in my native Rhön Mountains, also of volcanic origin, but very far inland and much greener.

The three poems in English only may work quite well in an automatic translator. The first two poems are translations of each other, or rather, parallel creations in German and English, where rhythm and rhyme required some changes in wording. It is better to do it this way, since the message is partly conveyed by rhythm and rhyme!

You could leave out the line in brackets to use the poem for a Valentine’s or anniversary card. Copy that line, though, into your list of places to see — both little towns, Teguise and Costa Teguise, because one has got the history and the other one the beach!

This handful of poems almost sums up my work: they describe plants and mountains and the sea; they refer to most basic colours; conclude with thoughts on art and religion and love; and use the beauty of language to capture the beauty of the world.

Fresh & Bright

Fresh & Bright

My brain’s a tube called Fresh & Bright
which squeezes out, in green and white,
a train of thought for your delight
and your enlightenment alike.

My mouth releases bite by bite
its philosophic fluoride
to stimulate your fancy’s flight:
Take one by day and one by night.

Christina Egan © 2015

Epithalamium (A Hundred Snowflakes)

Epithalamium

A hundred snowflakes melting in your hair,
and every one a different ornament;
a hundred swallows weaving in the air,
each on its own encrypted message bent;
a thousand roses, beauty pure and bare,
each goblet filled with subtly varied scent;
a thousand leaves consumed in festive flare,
each spelling out its special testament…
So how much more are you – a human face –
unheard-of and unequalled in your blend?
I chose you from a thousand for your grace,
fulfilling and surpassing what I dreamt.
So by your side I take today my place,
while unnamed blessings blossom and descend.

Christina Egan © 2014

An epithalamium is a wedding song; a Continental sonnet
has 8 + 6 lines. Here, the first eight lines present images
from the four seasons; the last six lines state that humans are
more complex and individual than any natural phenomenon.

Some German poems on the uniqueness of each person can be
found at
Einer von Millionen and Hieroglyphe.

First Autumn Days / Erste Herbsttage

First Autumn Days
(September Haiku)

*

Fiery flower,
still sucking sunshine, still scaling
the wooden fence.

*

The sky turns deep pink
above the first rusty leaves
and burning berries.

*

The moon, low and large,
a knob of solid silver
on heaven’s sceptre.

***

Erste Herbsttage

*

Feurige Blume,
noch saugst du die Sonne ein,
kletterst den Zaun hoch.

*

Tiefrosa Himmel,
erste rostrote Blätter,
brennende Beeren.

*

Der Mond, niedrig, groß,
solide Silberkugel
am Himmelszepter.

*

Christina Egan © 2015

*

Haiku have 5 + 7 + 5 syllables.
The German haiku are translated
from the English ones.

Queen of the Night to King Moon

Queen of the Night to King Moon

I suck the moisture from the Martian sand
and spend myself in reckless rapid bloom.
I am the Queen of a vast sun-quenched land,
yet subject to the magic of the Moon.

Wüstenblüte

Cactus seen from above, with two star-like flowers bigger than the body of the cactus

Sieh, vom Zauberstab des Mondes
angerührt mit sanfter Macht
sind zitronengelbe Sterne
wie Laternen still erwacht,
schütten Düfte in die Wüste,
todgeweiht nach einer Nacht –
desto größer, desto süßer
in verdichtet lichter Pracht.

Texts and photograph:
Christina Egan © 2014

You can find another photo of and poem about the Queen of the Night, Die Macht der Königin der Nacht, at the entry Green Blood.

The flowers indeed often come out with the full moon… and mostly last only one day… although they do last a second night.

Cacti must not stay outside overnight in a damp country: if their roots get too wet, they suffer and die. I only put them in the garden to make them and the insects happy… and the people!

ich liebe dich

ich liebe dich

ich liebe dich
ich suche dich
am apfelbaum
der geißblattbusch
umduftet mich
mit weiß und gold
ich liebe dich
ich finde dich
im fiebertraum
ein runder mond
verschwendet sich
verheißungsvoll
ich liebe dich

Christina Egan © 2015

These lines were inspired by my favourite poem ever,
the magical
Ich liebe dich by Adelheid Bienmüller, which
once struck me
 on a calendar. Unfortunately, I have not yet
found this poet and her poem on the world wide web!

Later, I translated these lines as I love you well (I look for you).

On Orange Sails / Yellow Balloon

On Orange Sails

On orange sails
across the ocean
of the sky,
towards the land
of lust and rest,
the butterfly
must toil and flail,
must drift and dream –
like you and I…
On orange sails
I still woo you,
my butterfly.


Christina Egan ©2014


Yellow Balloon

The matching dreams of you and me
are mellow streams of scented noon,
are yellow reams of solid silk,
to sew into a huge balloon
and blow it up with double breath
and fire it with blazing love
to sail across the heaving sky –
for us, the sea is not enough!


Christina Egan ©2014


There are more poems and a photograph at Orange Butterflies.
There is now also an anniversary poem about a Red Balloon!