dusk

Unterm Abendstern

~ Christina Egan ~ Leave a comment

Unterm Abendstern

I.

Sternenklar

Im Dämmer schwebt der neugeborne Mond,
ein unhörbares Gutenachtgeläute.
Die Amsel, die auf der Antenne thront,
ruft sternenklar… Mein Herz zerspringt vor Freude.

II.

Pflücken

Und immer wieder Amsel, Mond und Rose,
und immer wieder Wehmut und Entzücken…
Und unterm Abendstern das grenzenlose
Verlangen, diesen Augenblick zu pflücken.

III.

Xylophon

Ich brauche nichts als diese Vorstadtstraße,
den Blattgoldhimmel und den Vogelruf,–
und dann das klare Xylophon der Sprache,
die Hunderte verklärter Verse schuf.

Christina Egan ©2019

Tall brick chimney with blackbird sitting on top.
Blackbird on English chimney.
Photograph: Christina Egan ©2018.

Written in June, when the days are longest and the life-giving beauty of summer unfolds.

The senses mingle: the moon’s light is as bright as a bell and the blackbird’s call is as bright as a star.

The poems themselves are an echo of starlight and birdsong, created on the xylophone of language.

The subject of art can be as small as a summer evening above a random street– as small and as great.

Snow, Slow / Schnee, langsam

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Patio with some plants at far end covered in thick fresh snow.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.

Dasein (Herbstanfang)

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Dasein
(Herbstanfang)

Gleich einem lichtgefleckten Fichtenpfad,
bevor die ersten schweren Tropfen fallen,
erstreckt sich der Septembernachmittag
vor uns, als sei die Welt ein Wohlgefallen.

Wir dürfen auf die Wolkenschiffe steigen
und mit dem Bussard über Wipfeln stehn!
Obgleich die Strahlen sich ab morgen neigen,
wird unsre Schale langsam sich erhöhn.

Die Dächerschar erglüht im ersten Dämmer,
das Auge badet sich in buntem Glück…
Wir können unser Dasein nicht verlängern,
vertiefen aber jeden Augenblick.

Christina Egan © 2019

Treetops and summer sky seen from below.

Photograph: Christina Egan © 2013.

Purple Dusk (Bankside, London)

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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

River scene in dreamy bluish hues: gigantic bridge pillar, man on small boat, city on shore.

 

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.

Kerzenbekrönt

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Kerzenbekrönt

Senkt sich die Dämmrung an frostigen Tagen
– früher denn jemals, doch zauberhaft blau –
hängt über stolzen gewölbten Mansarden,
hält über giebelgeschmückten Fassaden,
bannt aus dem Geiste das leidige Grau.

Stürzen Gestirne herab in Kaskaden
– feucht ist das Pflaster, doch goldengetönt –
spannen sich Perlen an Faden um Faden
blinkend und bebend von Laden zu Laden
bis an die Kirchtürme, kerzenbekrönt.

Christina Egan © 2016

This poem was inspired by a front page photograph of the superb newspaper Agora  in Fulda, Germany, which I had folded over. Then I noticed that beneath the idyllic historical street lit up for Christmas, an industrial container had been inserted through photo montage: as a makeshift home for a refugee family. I felt I had to write a second poem, which you can find at Farbechte Hoffnung.

The street shown is Friedrichstraße, which gives you quite a good impression of past centuries, despite severe damage during the Second World War and ensuing changes. Fulda is quite good for midwinter holidays because of the Christmas Market, the nativity scenes in the churches, numerous festive events… and the snow in the mountains.

Strandkorb Song

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Strandkorb Song

What happened to the beach-seat
we found in Germany,
the bench within a basket
beside the Baltic Sea?

The land was lush and sunlit,
the air was pure and free,
the dusk was full of magic,
the surf a mystery.

White hooded beach seats, in dunes of fine white sand, with fresh plants growing.What happened to the beach-seat
placed there for you and me?
What happened to the footsteps
along the singing sea?

You said you won’t forget it,
the dusk, the moon, and me.
Where has it gone, the moment
of blue eternity?

We cannot leave the basket,
in space and time so far:
it is a secret casket
which holds a sparkling star.

Christina Egan © 2017

‘Beach baskets’ in Ahlbeck on Usedom.
Photograph: Christina Egan © 2017.

Strandkörbe, ‘beach baskets’, or hooded beach seats, are an alluring feature of German beaches on both seas. 

The story refers to the Midsummernight Far North I have described before on this website. I have developed Strandkorb Song further as lyrics.

Children of the sun and moon

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Children of the sun and moon

When we drift through ink-blue dusk
under the twigs of moon-white blossom,
under the crystal orbs of street-lamps,
under the shadeless signals of neon,

when we slide across concrete squares
and sail around sharp and rounded corners,
restless and vigorous, at home in the dark,
at home in the city, nocturnal birds,

we know deep down that we are still
children of the sun and moon:
the sun must rise in our eyes,
the moon must rise in our brain;

we must admit that we are still
children of the earth and sky:
the spring must rise in our bones,
the stars must rise in our veins.

Christina Egan © 2016

Chandelier

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Chandelier

At last, the air is warm again; the sky
at last gets gradually infused with light,
the clouds are dusty blue and creamy white:
the colours, too, warm up, warming the eye.
And that pale cliff of buildings, sheer and high,
gets saturated with the same delight
and holds it up against the sinking night:
this half-forgotten gentle golden dye.
And here, above the square of glittering grass,
above the blossom bursting on the trees
which trembles when the wilful spring winds pass,
there floats another sparkling tree, it seems:
a thousand particles of precious glass
struck by the grand piano’s swelling breeze.

Christina Egan © 2013

Hollow Oak / feuerrad

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Hollow Oak
(Anglo-Saxon spell)

Two round brooches with circular ornaments in gold and garnet, also glass and shell.Under the circle of branches,
under the tent of the tree,
inside the ring of the brambles,
sit on the roots with me!

Sit on the roots emerging
under the perfect round,
crouch by the tree-trunk surging
hollow from hallowed ground.

Under the circle of oak-leaves,
under the tent of the sky,
blue like the lakes in the valley,
come and sit closer by.

Very bright painting of the earth and universe in concentric circles on a golden background.Sheltered by tangled brambles,
held by the hollow oak,
tingled by ancient prayers,
kiss me and kindle hope!

Christina Egan © 2018

(Epping Forest, Essex)

feuerrad

das eichenlaub vergeht in goldesglanz
als sich das feuerrad der sonne senkt
die eiche hebt die wurzeln wie zum tanz
indes sie ihre hundert äste schwenkt

der eichenstamm rotiert als starke nabe
in jenem reigen zwischen tag und nacht
sein hohlraum bildet eine honigwabe
vom drachenzahn des brombeerstrauchs bewacht

die eiche streckt sich stolz am waldessaum
der sich zum wasserreichen tale neigt
wie gold und kupfer loht der alte baum
der tagstern sinkt das mondrund aber steigt

Christina Egan © 2018

(Epping Forest, Essex)

Illustrations: Anglo-Saxon disc brooches. Author: BabelStone [CC BY-SA 3.0], from Wikimedia Commons. — 12th century depiction of the world, illustrating a work by 11th century author Hildegard of Bingen.

Schimmernder Streif

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Schimmernder Streif

Ich weiß noch den Teich
zwischen Wiese und Wald,
offnem Meere und Land,
zwischen Süße und Salz,
wo die Dämmerung lang
und unsagbar weich
in den Baumwipfeln hing,
auf dem Wasser verging…

Jener silberne Teich
gleicht dem schimmernden Streif
der Musik, jenem Reich
zwischen Stille und Wort,
Empfindung und Ding,
zwischen Jenseits und Welt,
jenem Raum, der vergeht
und aufs neue ersteht…

Für Anton Bruckner

Christina Egan © 2017

This poem, like others in German and English, was inspired by one of the greatest landscapes I have seen: the strip of land called The Darß (Darss) in the south of the Baltic Sea.

The first stanza can be read as an impression of nature independently of the second, which compares it to Bruckner’s music, or indeed any music. Bruckner, in turn, is one of the greatest composers I know!