Mer de miel

 Clouds in hte sunset, looking like a bright yellow sea, an orange coast and purple sky. An optic illusion above a real coast (not visible here).

Mer de miel
(Sète)

Levez vos yeux vers ce vitrail doré,
d’un jaune plus doux, d’un jaune plus pâle possible :
une baie cernée de hauts rochers
d’un bleu brumeux… Un crépuscule paisible.

Clignez vos yeux à ce vitrail distant,
mer de miel, montagne mauve, sauvage :
tout flotte au dessus de l’horizon –
des eaux de feu, une terre de nuages !

Ce paysage d’un or incomparable
s’évanouit et passe, une image…
Ou serait ça la côte impérissable
et notre terre et mer le grand mirage ?

Christina Egan © 2016


This poem takes up an idea from ancient pagan and Christian philosophy: our world may be only a pale reflexion of a higher, perfect, world. Those ‘heavens’, however, are an inaccessible and unimaginable place — beyond our universe — for which the visible sky is only an image.

The fiery sunset which took me quite literally ‘out of this world’ occurred in midwinter on one of the northernmost beaches of the Mediterranean, at the outskirts of Sète. For a daytime poem and photograph on the sea around Sète, see La Mer, enfin.

Clouds in the sunset, looking like a bright yellow sea, an orange coast and purple sky. An optic illusion above a real coast (also visible here).

Photographs: The sky above the coast in Sète, France. Christina Egan © 2016

Word Weaver

Word Weaver

More purple clouds than I can count
or weigh or paint for you
or snatch and send them underground
with some surrounding blue…

To one whose windows do not stretch
to spy the heaving sky,
I’ll weave my syllables to fetch
the purple passing by.

To one whose dusk and marble moon
are filtered through a rail,
I must thread silver on my loom
to leave a shiny trail.

I must request the best black silk
to mark the balmy dark…
By day I’ll stitch a roaring quilt
to catch the city’s heart!

Christina Egan © 2016

Drawing of the mechanics of a loom (yarn on rolls, without the frame)The poet describes the world to a prisoner who can barely see the majestic ever-changing sky and the bright busy city surrounding them. The sound and rhythm of the lines emulate the warp and weft of life, so that the words reflect the world — read the poem aloud and you will see!

The other person may be imprisoned by a totalitarian state or indeed by a democratic state, or locked up by their employers or indeed their own family, behind walls and perhaps under a garment. There are many millions of human beings who de facto are prisoners or slaves without being called so.

For poems about time (for instance ensuing generations) and space (for instance a big city) as a tissue, see my post Geflecht / Geflechte. All of civilisation and all of humanity is one web.

Ich behaupte das Dach über Dächern

Ich behaupte das Dach über Dächern

I.

Ich behaupte das Dach über Dächern
und Wipfeln und Kuppeln der Stadt,
im sonnengeladenen Himmel
ein lebensgeladenes Blatt!

Eine Fahne in sattesten Farben,
ein Winken: „Ich bin! Ich bin hier!“
Mein Herz reißt sich los aus dem Leibe
und fliegt über Meere zu dir.

View from high up along building of concrete, steel and glass to the right, with lawn and trees to the left and clouds in blue sky above.

II.

Ich betrachte die Bäume von oben:
erst leuchtend, dann dürr und dann kahl.
Ich zeichne die Großstadt, gewoben
aus Backstein und Kalkstein und Stahl.

Mein Auge drängt aber hinüber
zum Rande der Stadt und des Lands,–
mein Herz glaubt noch immer, es fliege
zu dir mit dem Goldwolkenglanz!

Christina Egan © 2016

 

Photograph: Christina Egan © 2016


The person who ‘holds the position on the
roof above roofs’ gets the bigger picture:
observing the city, the sky, the seasons;  
aware of being a part of the fabric of life.

But really, she or he just wants to fly beyond
the horizon, to be united with a beloved one…
who might turn out to be an illusion of desire.
These lines evoke immanent transcendence.

These poems may work in a translation software.

Orange Butterflies

Orange Butterflies
(Monarch Butterflies)

Brittle ochre leaves…
No – sinewy butterflies,
waiting through winter!

*

Orange butterflies,
tiny, tender, untiring,
crossing continents.

*

A swift golden cloud:
a million bright butterflies
following their stars.

*

Christina Egan © 2016

Clusters of deep-orange butterflies on deep-green leaves, similary shaped.

Monarch butterflies cluster in Santa Cruz, California.
Photograph by Brocken Inaglory via Wikimedia Commons.

Der Baum im Schulhof

Der Baum im Schulhof
(Marienschule Fulda)

Das Bäumchen stand im rosa Kleid,
das Mädchen stand im blauen;
sie waren fünfzehn Jahre alt
und lieblich anzuschauen,
wenn auch noch zierlich, kindlich gar,
nichts als ein Bündel Blüten…
Im Norden lag ein gelbes Haus,
der Schulhof lag im Süden.

Und als sie sich nun wiedersehn
in eben jenen Mauern,
da sind sie fünfzig Jahre alt
und herrlich anzuschauen,
wie Wolken stattlich hingewölbt
und strahlend unter Schauern:
der Baum im dunkelrosa Kleid,
die Frau im dunkelblauen.

Christina Egan © 2015

You can look at the blossoming  Tree in the Schoolyard
and the yellow building online at Marienschule Fulda. 

The story of the schoolgirl and the tree, meeting at fifteen
years old and then at fifty, may work in a translation software.

Proteus / Daedalus

Proteus

Your beauty is the beauty of the clouds:
as grand and graceful, as remote,
from silver changing into gold,
and changing shape, and changing whereabouts.

Your beauty is the one of Proteus:
I’m bound to watch it swirl and stay,
afraid your heart will likewise sway,
innocuous and gay and treacherous.

Your beauty is the one of Morpheus:
I’m bound to drink it in a dream,
afraid of stumbling on that stream,
with ghostly flowers studded, murderous.

Your beauty is the beauty of the clouds.
your ever-present smile the gleam
behind their soft and tousled seam…
Your soul is what your face reveals and shrouds.

Christina Egan © 2012

Daedalus

I watch the condor pass:
lofty and lonely,
steady and strong,
improbable like Daedalus…

I watch the condor pass
and want to follow him
across the barren peaks –
I want to touch the clouds…

Christina Egan © 2012

Heimat gibt es doppelt

Heimat gibt es doppelt

Heimat gibt es doppelt: Heimat deiner Jugend,
Kopfsteinpflaster unter den karierten Schuhn;
anderswo vielleicht dann Heimat deines Herzens,
wo gewundne unsichtbare Wurzeln ruhn,

wo die Glocken süß und voll Verheißung beben
wie die frühen fliederfarbnen Azaleen,
wo die vielen flachen blassen Hausfassaden
lächeln, wenn die Wolkenschatten weiterwehn….

wo vor himmelstürmend hohen Kirchentürmen
glutrot oder sonnengelb die Blüten sprühn
und der Teppich der Jahrhunderte darunter
ruft, um deinen Lebensstrang hineinzuziehn.

Christina Egan © 2010

Another love letter to my favourite city, Cologne!

ostermorgen

ostermorgen

der schwere aschenfarbne vorhang
aus wolken zerrissen und weggefegt
spätmärzhohe morgensonne
ergießt sich als murmelnde orgelfuge

etwas ist geschehen
etwas ist dennoch geschehen
etwas
ist

lösende
lockende
gegenständliche
gegenwart!

Christina Egan © 2013

This poem about Easter morning was published in a previous edition of the Rhönkalender. It does not work in translation machines because the language is unusual and innovative.

For Christians, the resurrection of Jesus is not a myth or symbol but a historical and cosmic event; and God is not a distant force but a living presence.

For more on the symbolism of Lent and Easter, see my previous post Fastenzeit / Lent.

inselstrand / mondstrand

inselstrand

der sand ist durchsponnen
von tausenden rinnen
wo winzige flüsse
perlmuttern erschimmern

sich sammeln sich teilen
erwärmen erschauern
bald rasten bald eilen
erblassen erblauen

der sand is voll salz
und voll sonne gesogen
das leben verbirgt sich
im atmenden boden

das land ist dem wind
und dem wasser verwoben
die seele der enge
der insel enthoben

Christina Egan © 2014

Shallow sandy beach and blue sea water filling lower half of picture, sky-blue sky with a few clouds above. Exudes tranquillity.

Beach of Wyk on Föhr, Germany. Photograph: Christina Egan © 2014.

mondstrand

streckt das meer sich
mondbeglänzt
wacht die erde
nachtentgrenzt

webt die wolke
geisterhaft
um der mondin
zauberkraft

schlägt die schwärze
windbewegt
auf das silber
feingeprägt

pocht die welle
unentwegt
an den sandstrand
sanfterregt

taucht die sohle
heiß und bloß
in die brandung
ruhelos

steigt der schmerz
im raschen blut
fällt die träne
in die flut

steht die hoffnung
fest und fern
hängt das herz
am höchsten stern

Christina Egan © 2014


These lines stem from a visit to two tiny round North Sea
islands, Föhr and Hooge. Besides my walks on the beach —
by day and by night — I was inspired by
Gregor Swoboda’s
paintings
 at Galerie Nieblum.

Find more poems and photos at Views of North Sea Islands
(in German and English).

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.