In sternloser Nacht
In sternloser Nacht
ein Silberfleck auf dem Moos:
verirrtes Fröschlein…
In den Garten, ins Gedicht
und hinaus hüpfen Frösche!
In the starless night
a silver speck on the moss:
a little lost frog…
In and out of my garden,
of my poems, those frogs hop!
Christina Egan © 2017
For another tanka about frogs in honour of Basho, see Waiting for the Frog.
Frog pond. Note the tiny tadpole! Photographs: Christina Egan © 2014.
Durch uns durch
Der Baum des Lebens spannt sich himmelweit,
um uns herum und durch uns durch verzweigt.
Verwandt, verflochten sind wir,– Wirklichkeit,
die unterm windgepeitschten Widerstreit
niemand mehr wahrnimmt, niemand mehr bezeugt.
Die Menschenchronik spricht von Krieg und schweigt
von tiefverwurzelter Verbundenheit;
der mondenhelle Engelskodex schreibt
in Purpurlettern für die Ewigkeit
von durch und durch verwobner Menschenzeit.
Christina Egan © 2018
Codex Aureus of Lorsch, written around 810 AD in inks containing real gold or purple. Photograph: Wikimedia Commons.
The Letter that was Never Sent
It was of solid purple paper,
set out in blocks of golden ink,
an extract from a pagan gospel:
the letter that was never sent,
the letter that was never written,
but golden breathed in someone’s brain
and purple ran in someone’s veins –
the letter that was dreamt in vain.
Christina Egan © 2012
descending
from the rainbow-crossed twilight
down the narrow winding stairs
to the star-studded nightfall
from the church
to the crypt
from windows
to candles
descending far back in time
back into the sheltering earth
onto the threshold of heaven
from quiet
to silence
from proximity
to presence
the vaulted stairway awaits you
at the back of the ancient church
and hidden in your own heart
Christina Egan © 2018
(Sankt Andreas, Cologne)
This poem is best read very slowly, as if you were indeed walking down an ancient staircase at the back of a silent church…
Around the world-famous Cathedral, the twelve Romanesque churches of Cologne outdo each other in age, size, and beauty!
For German verse inspired by the mediaeval churches of Cologne, see Zugewogen, a poem on faith and destiny published in a previous edition of the Münsterschwarzacher Bildkalender.
Photograph by 3268zauber: Traces of colour from church windows on the floor in Baden-Baden, Germany.
I’ve Caught a Star
I’ve caught a star
and hold it tight,
it warms my heart,
it fills the night.
Yours is a kiss
as none before,
I know I need
now nothing more.
You are all men
and women, too,
the town, the land,
the earth are you.
You are the sun,
the sparkling day,
the magic moon,
the milky way.
You are the zest
upon my lip,
the only smile
that will unzip,
the only hand
that will hand back
each grain of corn,
each drop of sap.
Christina Egan © 2003
herbeigehofft
I.
augenblau
augenblick
blütenstaub
über deinem schreibtisch
augenblank
augenblitz
sternenstaub
an deiner straßenkreuzung
hattest du mich nicht erwartet
in jenem jahr?
hab ich mich nicht herangesehnt
immer schon?
wie die schwüle überquillt
in einen wolkenbruch
so die nieerklärte
neue liebe
ein beinahenichts
kaffeehaustischklein
kann umschlagen in
ein beinahealles
II.
blauauge
blickauge
was stehst du
über meinem schreibtisch?
blankauge
blitzauge
was suchst du
an meiner straßenkreuzung?
hast du mich doch gefunden
in der urwaldwelt?
hab ich dich doch herbeigehofft
im halbschlaf?
überquellen will ich
um mitternacht
in eine unverzeichnete
umarmung
ein beinahezuspät
bilderrahmenklein
kann aufsprühen in
ein beinaheewig
Christina Egan © 2017
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.
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.
Quintessence
I’ll fill a crystal flask
with silver melodies,
a magic drop to last
for years and centuries.
I shall distil my days
to mellow poetry,
and distant lands will taste
the quintessence of me.
I’ll fill a crystal flask
with pearls of memory:
my solitary task,
my faithful alchemy.
The five pure elements’
fifth essence, finally,
their forces and their scents:
as fresh as fiery!
Christina Egan © 2016
Photograph: Glass flask by Eugenes, found in Syria,
3rd c. AD. © The Trustees of the British Museum.
I had similar flasks from the Roman era in mind
when I wrote the poem but did not know this one.
Die Wege von Malta
Über das zerrissene
blütensprühende Gestein
legt sich das zerschlissene
Fischernetz im Sonnenschein:
Eselswege, Autostraßen,
steil und krumm und oftgeflickt,
Klosterhöfe, Promenaden,
salzbehaucht und dufterquickt.
Netz von Stiegen, Steigen, Pfaden
wandelt flugs ein Wolkenbruch
zu Kanälen und Kaskaden,
füllt die ausgedörrte Schlucht,
tränkt die berstendgrünen Triften,
häuft den sonnengoldnen Sand,
formt den Lehm der stolzen Küsten,
höhlt die wilde Felsenwand…
Christina Egan © 2018
A golden and green impression of Malta Island in February —
glorious spring! — Photograph: Christina Egan © 2018.
The Path of Luck
The burnished desk of the leader groaned
under the slap of his sturdy sandal:
he brandished it over the map of Europe,
as if he signed it, large, from the left.
The oil-lamp flickered, the officers frowned
and grinned and raised their cups of spiced wine:
“Don’t forge your luck while it’s hot and supple —
but fan your fate when you will it so!”
The earth would unroll like a scarlet carpet,
lavish her treasures before his feet:
the gold and the purple, sandalwood, snakeskin,
the pearl and the laurel, the wine from volcanoes.
His sandals mounting the snow-white steps,
he saw and saw not the pool of blood.
Christina Egan © 2008
Altae moenia Romae
Rome rose, looked round, and conquered all,
on loot and lies loomed square and tall,
and slowly crumbled towards its fall.
Time’s march defies the highest wall.
Christina Egan © 2008
The first poem was written on the Ides of March and the second soon after. They reveal the dark side of Rome, the shadow of the imperial propaganda that the Empire had brought universal peace. Caesar is still celebrated as the greatest statesman ever; but he got to the top, and lifted Rome to the top, at a very great human cost.
For praise of ancient Rome, go to the narrative poem The City Lit Up about Roman London and the sonnets at The Hallowed City about the Eternal City itself.
The poem above follows the structure of an English sonnet, with three times four lines and then two in the end, with a conclusion or twist.
Illustrations: Roman mosaic, Bardo Museum, Tunis. Photograph: Christina Egan © 2014. — Milestone, Campidoglio, Rome. Photograph by Lalupa. — Roman city wall of London. Photograph by Mariordo (Mario Roberto Durán Ortiz) (Own work) via Wikimedia Commons.
Christina Egan 