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.

ich liebe dich

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).

On Orange Sails / Yellow Balloon

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

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

An der breiten Straße / By the Highway

An der breiten Straße

In des Stadttors Schatten steh’ ich,
Wo die Straße sich entrollt:
Und die Stadt ist nicht von Marmor
Und das Pflaster nicht von Gold.

An der breiten Straße sitz’ ich
Eine Stunde und ein Jahr:
Und ich träume, und ich hoffe,
Und ich warte immerdar.

Händler fahren ihre Waren,
Pilger ziehen aus und ein,
Gräber reihen sich allmählich:
Und ich werde selbst zu Stein.

Eines Nachts verkünden Sterne:
Gehe aus und such’ dein Glück!
Eines Tages bringst du’s hierher,
Denn die Stadt ruft dich zurück.

Christina Egan © 2015

Straight Roman road with ruins and trees to the left and right, in the dusk

Roman road in Carthage, Tunisia.
Photograph: Christina Egan © 2014

By the Highway

In the city gate I’m standing,
Where the outbound road‘s unrolled:
And the city’s not of marble
And the pavement not of gold.

By the highway I am sitting,
First an hour, then a year:
And I’m dreaming, and I’m hoping,
And I’m waiting, sitting here.

Merchants cart their goods to market,
Pilgrims visit and go home,
Tombs line up along the highway:
Slowly, I, too, turn to stone.

Yet one night some stars announce it:
Seek your luck now, seek your track!
And one day bring back your luck here,
When the city calls you back.

Christina Egan © 2015

This poem is timeless. A similar song is part of my play The Bricks of Ur, which is set 4,000 years ago. Another story from a highway outside a Roman city is Quo vadis?.View of Roman Cologne: a large neat grid of buildings with red tiles, located on flat land by a wide river“Roman Cologne, reconstruction” by Nicolas von Kospoth via Wikimedia.

This poem or song was inspired by ancient Roman tombs along Severinstraße, the straight road leading southwards out of Cologne, Germany (left in the picture). Artistic impressions of a Cologne city gate and a highway lined by tombs are online on p. 48 and p. 28-29 of Römer Straßen Köln. When I wrote the poem, I did not know that at times, Severinstraße was known as “Lata platea” or “Breite Straße” (“Broadway”)!

Postscriptum:  This was my first post ever! Roman roads and Cologne are two of my favourite subjects; so you can link to the texts covering them directly.