Nachruf auf einen Gärtner
Abertausend goldne Nüsse
trug der weite Walnussbaum,
warf sie kraftvoll und gelassen
an den Schuppen, an den Zaun.
Abertausend süße Bissen
brachte er aus sich hervor,
zu bescheiden, um zu wissen,
was die Welt an ihm verlor.
Christina Egan ©2020
This poem was written for my uncle, who was a professional and passionate gardener.
It is published in the calendar, Münsterschwarzacher Bildkalender 2024 (circulation 80,000) with the photo above.
Still Here
Still here:
still striding into the drizzle
across the buzzing roads
and straight across the green
with my hair getting frizzy
and my eyes getting dazzled
by the purple orbs
on the tale pale thistles
Still off-screen:
mounting the white cliff
of the sky-scraper
with my own eyes
still off-air
echoing the whistle
of the lime-green parrot
with my own voice
still off-map
facing the buffets
of the wilful winds
with my own face
Still no gloss
on top of the gloss
still no sheen
on top of the cream
upon the click of a button
the command of a machine
Still here:
still pounding
the moistened pavement
with my own feet
still brushing
the sparkling bush
with my own hands
still whispering
some half-rhymed lines
with my own lips
Christina Egan ©2023
For my birthday, I am posting some recent verse, which came to me during an enjoyable walk on a dull summer’s day.
I still live largely without social media, and I have still never had a smartphone, nor a motorised vehicle.
I still try to live an authentic life: walking for miles and travelling overland, reading plenty of print and writing letters by hand, growing my herbs and cooking from scratch…
Im Herzen von Köln (St. Andreas)
Vorm Fenster herrscht
der alte Dom
und unterm Fuß
das alte Rom.
Minutentakt
Der Boden bebt,
die U-Bahn pulst,
die Erde lebt.
Die Straße dröhnt,
die Weltstadt wacht,
der Domplatz zittert
Tag und Nacht.
Der Baulärm grellt,
das Blaulicht greint,
die Flöte lockt,
die Geige weint.
Die Orgel jauchzt,
die Glocke braust,
die Stille ruft,
die Stille rauscht.
Am Kreuz hängt einer
ganz allein
und will das Herz
der Erde sein.
Die heilge Stadt
lebt noch aus ihm.
Sie weiß es kaum;
er gibt sich hin.
Minutentakt:
Der Tunnel braust,
der Erdschlund grollt,
die U-Bahn saust.
O Einsamkeiten –
Mein Herz brennt.
O eigne Sehnsucht –
Mein Herz rennt.
Doch Ruhe ist ja
nur in Ihm…
So knie ich nieder:
Nimm mich hin.
Christina Egan ©1992
The first poem of the year takes place in Roman streets again, in the midst of Cologne, in Sankt Andreas, the mighty mediaeval church right opposite the Cathedral. When you descend into the crypt, you are pretty close to antiquity. All around, Roman walls are displayed, or simply still standing.
For an English poem about Cologne with a similar content and in a similar style, see My City Calls (Grey Roofs Grey Walls). There, it is the city itself which provides comfort and hope, as religious faith does here. I noticed the striking parallel only yesterday on relaunching my poetry blog!
Liebe Leserinnen und Leser! Dear Readers!
Ich bin wieder da :o) ! My anthology of poetry is back!
Some of you have wondered why I have not posted anything recently. I have continued writing, of course, and have had poems published in newspapers and on calendars, which I shall all put up here also.
Two years ago, I had already published 600 of my best poems on this site, so I have raised my target from 500 to 1,000 poems! This is not about mass, though, this is about quality of poetry.
Alert observations, intense emotions, clear insights.
Vivid images and musical language.
Beauty discovered and created.
Life condensed into art.
Art celebrating life.
Half of the texts are in English and half in German, so I hope that many readers in many countries can enjoy them. My comments are in English, trusting that most of you can read them easily. Remember that automatic translations cannot convey the magic of literary language. Sometimes, I translate my verse, or rather, recreate it in the other language. (These posts are marked as Parallel poems.)
Feel free to use my poems and photos for any non-commercial purposes as long as you always give my name or the name of the site (Christina Egan – Poetry & Plays), and if it is online, link to the post or the site. (See copyright note below.)
Keep reading and reciting poetry – and perhaps writing some!
The Author, Christina Egan
Christina Egan by Christina Egan is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License.
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…
Vision
In den Augen den Mittag,
den Mittelmeermittag –
In den Haaren die Nacht,
braunsamtene Nacht –
In den Augen die Sonne,
im Wellenspiel glitzernd –
In den Haaren den Wind,
wildseidenen Wind –
Christina Egan © 2014
A luminous winter day on a Mediterranean island… or rather, the beginning of a lush spring as early as February. – Photograph: Christina Egan © 2018.
Gegenwart
Wie Kalksteinhügel liegen deine Wangen
und deine Haare wie ein Pinienwald.
Schon zittert meine Seele vor Verlangen
nach deiner bloß erratenen Gestalt.
Ein dunkler Doppelsee sind deine Augen,
noch beinah unberührt und unergründlich.
Ob sie auch meine Zukunft in sich bergen,
ist beinah ungedacht und unerfindlich.
Und wie das warme Meer rollt deine Stimme,
wenn sich orangerot der Tagstern neigt…
O schautest du nur auf und hieltest inne –
und würdest niemals bloß Vergangenheit!
Christina Egan © 2014
Description of a new acquaintance in terms of a Mediterranean landscape.
The title plays on the double meaning of the German word “presence” / “present”: the speaker is mesmerised by the other person and already has a faint hope that he or she will become the future… and never slide back into the past.
Sunset on a Mediterranean shore in January. – Photograph: Christina Egan © 2016.
Northern Marsh
Beyond the Roman highway lay
the marshes, lush and veiled and vast,
on gravel and on sun-baked clay,
a northern, watery mirage.
The never-ending summer’s day
had lured me to a gentle ridge;
the brushwood seemed without a way,
the pools and brooks without a bridge.
And yet I knew that people dwelt
amidst the shimmering, shifting maze…
My flung-out road was but a belt
around an untamed country’s waist.
Christina Egan © 2020
cartwheels
cartwheels of stars
sparkling spilling
turning rolling
sinking back
into the black
and then comets
shooting up –
comets up-
side down!
goldfish in the sky
shooting swerving
flapping lurching
dropping back
into the black
drops of molten gold
like prayers
for the new year
to the Unknown God
Christina Egan © 2017
Snow, Slow
(Christmas Haiku)
Snow, slow, abundant,
covering the sleek black soil
like icing-sugar.
*
Flames of real candles
in the darkened room, like stars
visiting the earth.
*
Tinsel billowing
on the fir-twigs, as if stirred
by an angel’s wing.
***
Schnee, langsam
(Weihnachtshaiku)
Schnee, langsam, reichlich,
fällt auf blanke schwarze Erde…
wie Zuckerstaub.
*
Wachskerzenflammen
im Dämmer… wie Sterne,
herniedergestiegen.
*
Lametta flattert
an Zweigen… wie angerührt
von Engelsflügeln.
Christina Egan © 2017
Real candles, even made of beeswax, are still common on Christmas trees in Germany, and lametta is used more sparingly and usually silver, reminiscent of snow.
Thick snow is nowadays a rare phenomenon in England… Note the tiny Christmas tree taken out after the festive days (and later planted into the soil!). – Photograph: Christina Egan © 2018.
Christina Egan 