xx LANGUAGES

Queen of the Night to King Moon

~ Christina Egan ~ Leave a comment

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

~ Christina Egan ~ Leave a comment

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).

Einer von Millionen

~ Christina Egan ~ Leave a comment

Einer von Millionen

In einem leeren Spiegel
erschaff’ ich deine Hand,
ich zeichne deine Züge
auf eine weiße Wand,

ich will dein Lächeln siegeln
in einen Linienflug,
als seist du schon genügend,
als seist nur du genug!

Du bist, was ich ersehne,
du bist, was mich erfreut;
doch stehst du für Millionen,
von denen niemand zeugt.

Christina Egan © 2014

—

Here, a painter — or indeed poet — recreates the face of a beloved person in an empty mirror and on a white wall. This corresponds to the German poem Spiegelherz (Mirror Heart), where the speaker wants to ‘swap mirrors’ with someone else.

The end of this  poem has a twist: the one person who means everything to us is actually just like everyone else — we are all unique, extraordinary, beautiful!

Another poem on the uniqueness of each human being at each moment in time is the previous post, Hieroglyphe.

Hieroglyphe

~ Christina Egan ~ Leave a comment

Hieroglyphe

Die goldne Hieroglyphe dieser Locke
ist eine hohe Botschaft der Natur,
ein Angebot vom unbekannten Gotte,–
doch unentziffert schlummert ihre Spur.

So einfach ist die Locke doch zu deuten,
so klar die Kurven, die sie kühn beschreibt,
ein goldner Schlüssel zu versteckten Freuden,–
doch ohne Leser glänzt sie auf und schweigt.

Auf dich hat sie gewartet, jene Strähne,
die die Geschichte so nur einmal schrieb,
auf jenen, der am Strom vorüberkäme
und läse in dem unerhörten Lied.

Christina Egan © 2014

Fragments of giant Egyptian statue with hieroglyphs

 

 

Photograph: West Bank of Thebes (Luxor)
Christina Egan © 2013

—

A woman's throat with a large butterfly pendant in silver and purple and a long blond ringlet on her dark garment.The poet claims that even a curl may be a sacred character to be deciphered, a key to another person’s mind.

Yet, it is rare that we notice or understand each other… and the next moment, it may be too late.

Meine blaue Mauer

~ Christina Egan ~ Leave a comment

Meine blaue Mauer

Oranges hanging from branches against blue sky

Ich tränke die Terrassenwand
mit Mittelmeeresblau,
denn auch im Goldorangenland
regiert zuweilen Grau.

Ich pflanze einen Ölbaumzweig
in einen irdnen Topf,
als säße ich im Römerreich
mit meinem prallen Pfropf. Fragment of a plate; fine red pottery impressed with two doves

Ich krümele den Thymian,
kaum samengroßes Laub:
Sein wilder Duft steigt himmelan –
Mein südlich süßes Kraut!

Ich leg’ ein rotes Scherbenrund
in meine Marmorhand,
als hielte der gemeine Fund
Jahrtausende gebannt…

Roof terrace with pots of little palm-trees and fence all painted in striking bright blue.Auf meiner Gartenmauer schau’
ich Städte bunt erblühn
und wachsen in das satte Blau
und wanken und verglühn.

Ich ritze meinen Namen stolz
dem Putz ein auf Latein;
ich warte aufs Olivenholz
und schlürfe Purpurwein…

Christina Egan © 2014

Photographs: Morocco
Christina Egan © 2012

Photo of Late Roman shard from Egypt used
with kind permission of the British Museum.

On Orange Sails / Yellow Balloon

~ Christina Egan ~ Leave a comment

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!

Real dreams

~ Christina Egan ~ Leave a comment

Real dreams

The saxophone blows golden loops
of grief into the golden air…
Amongst the crowd, I am alone –
my life is cracked beyond repair.

The saxophone, the sinking sun
release a web of golden streams…
Not even memories are mine
but only memories of dreams.

The bus arrives and carries me
away from unrhymed elegies.
Not even real dreams are mine
but only dreams of memories.

Christina Egan © 2014

Green Blood

~ Christina Egan ~ Leave a comment

The plant on the window-sill

Lush Christmas cactus on window sill, appearing to reach out to the viewer, with little cacti around.

It is shining, it is glowing,
while the sun is rising high!
It is stretching, it is growing,
so am I, oh, so am I!

It is breathing, it is throbbing,
full of blossom, full of birth!
It is floating, it is bobbing
on the bubble of the earth!

Christina Egan © 2015

Fist-sized cactus with large star-like flower on long firm stalk. Palm-tree shaped red plant in background mirroring the flower's shape; white rose petals on ground mirroring its colour.Die Macht der Königin der Nacht

In der Mittsommermitternacht
ist ein schneeweißer Stern mir erwacht,
eine bebende Blütenblattüte:
Mit heimlicher Königsmacht
hat ein Kaktus den Funken entfacht,
eine klare Trompetenblüte!

Christina Egan © 2013

 

The Tree at the Corner

Shiny reddish bark, paper-thin and frayed, on a straight round tree-trunk.I gather air and light,
I filter drop on drop,
till there is liquid life:
my waving hands’ green blood.

I give you air and shade
with my bright canopy,
till there is solid gold
through age-old alchemy!

Christina Egan © 2015

 

Was der Baum im Winter tut

Bare branches against sunset in mauve and apricot; high mountains along horizon.Mit tausend nackten Zweigen hält der Baum
gleich einem gläsernen gewölbten Kelch
die Gänserufe und den Amselsang,
das gleißend hingegossne letzte Gold
und dann das Pfauenblau der frühen Nacht…
Und jene Stille wie ein Geigenklang.

Christina Egan © 2013

Photographs: Christina Egan © 2013/2014/2016

These lines portray plants as living creatures and active participants in this universe.

The non-descript pot-plant stays in its place, yet it gives and takes, grows and procreates — and presumably enjoys life, particularly in spring.

Around summer solstice, the humble cactus suddenly pushes out an unlikely flower, shaped like a trumpet and dazzling like a star: it has revealed itself as a Queen of the Night!

The everyday tree turns the inanimate elements into living matter; and it brings forth beauty even while that life turns towards death again in autumn.

Around winter solstice, the bare tree perceives the beauty of this earth — sunset and dusk, birdsong and silence — or at least, it forms part of this array for us.

Spiegelherz

~ Christina Egan ~ Leave a comment

Spiegelherz

Laß uns insgeheim die Spiegel tauschen,–
was soll ich mit einer schönen Frau?
Oder Haaren, die sich bronzen bauschen,
oder Augen von Spätabendblau?

Hast du dein Porträt in Hell und Dunkel
nicht genug geprüft ob seines Werts?
Ich bin an der Reihe, dein Gefunkel
aufzufangen als dein Spiegelherz.

Christina Egan © 2014

—

In these lines, a beautiful woman suggests to a fascinating man
swapping mirrors so that he can admire her instead of himself!
She also implies that her heart could be the mirror of his heart.

The tone is light-hearted, but the intention is serious. It is the title
of this poem, the made-up word ‘Mirror-Heart’, which lent its name
to the category of love poems on this website: ‘Mirror hearts’.

 

Gingerbread Man

~ Christina Egan ~ Leave a comment

Gingerbread Man

God made you of some gingerbread
which over time intensifies:
so that with every year, your breath
will taste of hotter, sweeter spice!

Christina Egan © 2014

—

We Married on the Ferris-Wheel

Vienna quivered in the heat
for our furtive feast:
we married on the ferris-wheel
(we kissed on it, at least).

The palaces shone yellow-white
like lemon cakes with glaze:
we married in the royal grounds
(we kissed within a maze).

That summer rolled into a ball
and down the hill of time –
Vienna basks in splendour still,
my bridegroom still is mine!

Christina Egan © 2014

—

String of Pearls

Your presence makes this globe that whirls
the best of all existing worlds —
your kisses make this blob a pearl
from which a string of worlds unfurls!

Christina Egan © 2015

—

Asteroid

He inhabits his own tiny planet,
a fragment of rock, you might say;
his orbit seems steep and erratic
and often immensely away.

Yet, what you can’t see from your garret
nor find in your smart telescopes:
it’s two of them snug on that comet
that’s studded with roses and oaks.

Christina Egan © 2010