A Lonely Star
A lonely star surveys the streets.
The dark is brownish, blurred by lamps.
The cold is damp and slowly creeps
through draughty windows, long-locked doors.
Bats flit about like ghostly hands.
A blinking helicopter roars;
the city stirs and sighs and sleeps.
The star looks down and frowns and stands.
Christina Egan © 2017
Decorative paper. Image provided
by British Library through Flickr.
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.
Brown Butterfly
Found, found on sandy ground:
bronze brooch from an unknown age,
bright map of an unknown land,
O quivering flower,
brown butterfly!
Where have you flown…?
Little butterfly,
your mirroring wings
are dust lifted up from the earth
and assembled to beauty of heaven.
Grace, grace beyond a name.
Brauner Schmetterling
Gefunden auf sandigem Grund:
Bronzebrosche verlorener Zeiten,
bunte Karte ferner Gefilde.
Du erbebende Blume,
du bräunliche!
Wo flogst du hin…?
Schmetterling,
deine Spiegelbildflügel
sind Staub, der Erde enthoben,
gesammelt zu Himmelsschimmer.
Anmut, namenlose Anmut.
The shape of the poems — and their
colour — emulate those of a butterfly.
English poem: Christina Egan © 2005.
German poem: Christina Egan © 2017.
Photographs: Christina Egan © 2013.
geh aus mein herz
die braunen bauklotzhäuser
mit farbenkastentüren
die weißen blütenkelche
die sich versonnen rühren
im wind aus samt und seide
die schweren purpurrosen
in Salomonis kleide
die deine finger kosen…
der sommer will dich füllen
die erde lädt dich ein
zu laufen und zu schaffen
zu schauen und zu
sein
Christina Egan © 2011
Salomonis Seide
In Purpur zog der Kaiser einst,
in Scharlachrot der Kardinal,
in Violett die Kaiserin
in einen grüngeschmückten Saal.
So prunken die Geranien
in ihrer Sommerprozession
und rufen in das Gartenrund:
“Wir übertrumpfen Salomon!”
Christina Egan © 2014
The appeal ‘Go out and seek joy’ and the metaphor of King Solomon’s silk are taken from the jubilant hymn and folksong Geh aus, mein Herz, und suche Freud, written by Paul Gerhardt in the middle of the 17th century.
The houses in uniform dull colours with front doors in different bright colours are typical for London. So are the little private gardens with geraniums.
The first poem is contemplative and intense, the second one humorous and light. The last line of the first poem is cut up on purpose: to let the word ‘to be’ resound on its own.
For an English poem about the pageant of summer see Lilac and Lime.
Der Sommer verglüht
Der Sommer verglüht
in Purpur, Gold und Lapislazuli.
Die Straße erhebt sich
wie ein Tempel der Vorzeit.
Die Dinge sind rund und reif,
getränkt mit Regen, gesättigt mit Licht.
Feuchtes Gras flammt grün,
üppiges Moos überkleidet den Stein.
Wie Weihrauch steigt
der weiche Atem des Lavendel.
Die Wolken gleißen, gleiten,
Flotte ins offene Blau.
Brüchiger Backstein, zerknitterndes Laub:
Altes blättert ab, zerfällt in tausend Brauns.
Herbst, Kelter des Jahres,
Zeit, Fest der Verwandlung.
Christina Egan © 2001
A very descriptive and colourful poem with a philosophical note:
“Autumn: wine-press of the year.
Time: feast of transformation.”
Glazed Clay
Two mighty rivers’ ceaseless flow
beneath a high and cloudless sky;
to either side the ochre glow
of arid countries rolling by;
and here and there a golden maze,
the buildings’ cubes, the cities’ grid:
this jar with blue and brownish glaze
from Babylon still mirrors it.
Christina Egan © 2016
Mesopotamian jar (9th to 7th c. BC) . Photograph: © The Trustees of the British Museum.
The city and country of ‘Babylon’ were under Assyrian rule at the time the little jar was made, but I just used the name as the most familiar for all the civilisations of Mesopotamia.
For a German poem about Babylon with the Euphrates and the Hanging Gardens, see Die Hängenden Gärten.
The perfect elegance of this tiny everyday object is an example for the simple beauty I call for in Fewer Things, where you can also see a red Roman bowl.
By the Brittle Brown Fence
By the brittle brown fence,
bright, arresting the eye,
an explosion of pink,
pure pink!
Low, silent, intense, incessant,
a pillow of raspberry colour,
triumphant trumpet
of early summer:
my azalea
in May!
Christina Egan © 2006
The shape of the poem emulates the content…
and in this display, it is also true for the colour!
Roof-Tile
(Béziers)
A roof-tile, grooved: a hill, a dell,
in broken ochre, earthy red,
with greenish circles in between;
a piece of world, of time a shred.
And then I see: the whole old roof
is such a patch of orange clay –
the whole old town in weathered brown,
resplendent in a tender ray!
Christina Egan © 2016
—
Plateau
(Béziers)
Life is a gnarled and narrow hill,
so steep as scarcely to be climbed:
you scramble, stumble, slide or fall,
you stay below, you stay behind.
Then opens, through a hedge or wall,
a gap, a gate, an avenue,
a whole plateau, a spilling well,
a plain beneath your startled view!
Christina Egan © 2016
—
Two views from the ancient city of Béziers in France, which is piled up
on a couple of steep hilltops: the first view is from the Cathedral tower; the second, from the park called Parc des poètes / Plateau des poètes.
Well… the respite after struggles and setbacks might be found in enjoying or creating art — or in life itself!
While getting lost and strained in the lanes of Béziers reminded me of nightmares, exploring the Cathedral like a giant Crystal Rock induced me to create the word ‘lightmare’!
Photographs: Béziers from the Cathedral roof ; Parc des poètes. Christina Egan © 2016
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
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.
Der letzte Tag des Sommers ist gekommen
Der letzte Tag des Sommers ist gekommen
mit Tropfen frischen Bluts und Flocken Schnees
entlang des ausgeblichnen Blumenbeets,
mit Sonnenschein, geballt und dann verschwommen,
mit Regenschauern, hart und schon zerronnen,
mit tausendfacher Kraft des Krauts und Klees
und brüchigbraunem Laub entlang des Wegs,
mit Silbernetzen wie aus Luft gesponnen.
Der letzte Tag des Sommers hält die Fahne
von allen Farben in die wilden Winde,
daß sie das Auge ohne Suche finde,
daß sie die Seele ohne Zweifel ahne…
Der letzte Tag des Sommers hängt die Fahne
an gelber Rosen berstendes Gebinde.
Christina Egan © 2014
The first part of this sonnet (8 lines) conjures up scattered petals like drops of blood and flakes of snow, bright sunshine and hard rain, vigorous herbs and brittle leaves and delicate webs. The second part (6 lines) lets the last day of summer hold a colourful banner into the wild winds and hang it onto a lush garland of yellow roses. — See also Poems about roses, life and death (a German and English selection).
Christina Egan 