Between Shade and Shade
*
Under the grey sky
the squares, the traffic, the crowds
remain almost grey….
*
Between shade and shade
my eyes reach the dazzling sun
before my feet do.
*
The flash of a star –
the winter sun reflected
in a glass façade.
*
Christina Egan © 2013
Warten ist der Winter
Warten ist der Winter, Warten
auf den endlich wieder starken
Glanz, der sanft ins Leben küßt,
was vor Gram verblichen ist.
Einsam ist der kleine Garten,
während Garben aller Farben
unter altem Laub und Moos
schlummern im verdorrten Schoß.
Hilflos ist das lange Darben
für den unbemerkten Garten:
hilflos, doch nicht hoffnungslos,
denn der Himmel ist sein Trost.
Christina Egan © 2012
This poem, Winter Means Waiting, inspired me much later to compile some poems on the topic of “Warten/Garten”: gardens and fields waiting for spring. In this word cloud, some words are picked out in certain colours to reflect the mood: grey for the hardship of winter, yellow for the hope of early spring, and deep pink for the exuberance of full spring. The position of the words, however, occurred by chance: all four keywords in magenta are from Aprilabend and were propelled to the four edges.
The other poems are Hinter dem Olivenbaum, Mitte Februar, Fastenzeit, Der Nebel hebt sich, Wende (Bestickt mit Blüten), Bunter Zwirn, Aprilabend.
Many thanks to the Simple Word Cloud Generator!
My City Calls
Grey roofs grey walls
Make up this place
A rough and kind
Familiar face
The spires chimneys
Market stalls
Suspended bridges
Station halls
Oh face of walls
So great so mild
My city calls
Come here my child
My city calls
With golden chime:
While winter falls
Stay here some time
The sky is full
Of rain and snow
Of miracles
To fall and grow
So many faces
In the street
Yet far away
The one I need
Far is my dear
So far away
But I am here
Just day to day
My city calls
Me with her charms
My heartbeat falls
into her arms
Christina Egan © 1995 / 2012
For a similar German poem, see Im Herzen von Köln. Like in Heimkehr nach Köln, the big city is seen as a mother. There are other poems or songs where I describe it as a person — man or woman, although I feel that a city is female. It is a personal relationship: my heart beats for the city, as I claim in Geflecht / Geflechte.
Oktoberbilder
I.
Die weiche Luft wie weißes Brot…
Das erste volle Herbstesrot
hängt überm frischgetränkten Gras.
Die Sonne bleibt durch Dunst versperrt,
doch Astern sprühn ihr Feuerwerk,
und Rosen quellen ohne Maß –
O erdgeborne Sternenpracht,
die uns am hellen Tage lacht,
o buntes Bild auf grauem Glas!
II.
Der Himmel ist mit Blau behaucht,
die Gärten neu in Gold getaucht,
mit Gelb getränkt schon manches Laub;
und selbst das Blatt, das sterbend schwebt,
ist kupferrot wie frischerregt.
Noch einmal kost das Licht die Haut…
Das Windrad saust, die Wolke fliegt,
ein weißer Blütenball zerstiebt –
Zuletzt wird jedes Ding zu Staub.
Christina Egan © 2015
This poem has meanwhile been published in the Rhönkalender 2017.
The Lavender’s Splendours
On brittle grey walls,
find brittle grey sheaves
on wire-thin stalks
with tired long leaves…
The lavender’s splendours
of indigo spikes
are ashes and embers:
dull grey with mauve lights.
Yet grasp its pale grains
and grind them to flakes –
and dazzling white flames
will rise when it wakes!
Christina Egan © 2016
dachterrasse
dachterrasse
traumgehege
der straßenkreuzung den hinterhöfen
den baustellen enthoben
lavendel und rosen
wuchern und welken
der feuerdorn verheißt
lautlose feuerwerke
Christina Egan © 2016
Photographs: Christina Egan © 2016
Zwei Zauberkugeln
Zwei Zauberkugeln, Spiegel
von Wolken, Fluss und Feld
enthalten unter Siegel
die Zukunft, matt erhellt:
Zwei blanke graue Augen
erwecken neuen Glauben
an diese alte Welt.
Christina Egan © 2004
Bright Grey Eyes
With you, there is no waning light
of day, of season or of life;
there’s growing glow and growing sight
of bright grey eyes in bright grey eyes.
With you, there is no wasted time
doomed to oblivion or decay;
each day is gained, each year a line
of our winding, climbing way.
Christina Egan © 2009
These two poems have a similar topic,
but are not translations of each other.
The colour of the writing on this page
emulates the eye colours of the couple.
Augustfest
August.
Klangvolles,
sattgoldnes Wort,
beinah orangerot.
Abend.
Wort voll blauer Ruhe,
verborgener Kraft
und süßer Verheißung.
Norden.
Ein weites graues Feld
im Winter… im Sommer aber
ein ganz grüner Horizont.
Augustabend im Norden.
Ein Fest ist uns bereitet,
herrlich wie ein Hochzeitstag.
Schau dich doch um.
Christina Egan © 2016
Some more thoughts on the north of the planet… In winter all is grey, sky and land and water alike; but in summer, the world shines in blue and green and golden. This is before you look at the flowers and fruits, and the places and things whose colours show again, and the people who have come outdoors again. Winter lasts six months in Southern Europe, like in the myth of Persephone, but seven months in Central Europe and perhaps nine in Northern Europe… All the more do we enjoy the glories of summer!
This is one of many poems I wrote for my wedding anniversaries in August; I hope plenty of other people will be able to use it for their engagements, weddings, and anniversaries! The little poem I read at my wedding is simply called I Love You.
Views of North Sea Islands – Ansichten von Nordseeinseln
Thick patches of moss
clustering on rippled thatch
like verdant islands,
like the islands we stand on:
growing in the rough grey sea.
Dicke Moospolster
auf dem welligen Reetdach,
gleich grünen Inseln,
gleich diesen Inseln hier,
wachsend im wilden grauen Meer.
Red clover blossom:
tiny magenta lanterns
in the green and blue,
feeding on the salty floods
across these flat floating disks.
Rosaroter Klee:
winzige Laternen
in all dem Grün und Blau,
genährt von Salzfluten
über schwebende Scheiben hin.
Huge ships approaching,
or space-ships – or are they hills,
or houses on stilts?
They are houses, hamlets, islets…
a necklace of glass beads.
Da – Riesenschiffe –
Raumschiffe – oder Hügel,
Häuser auf Stelzen?
Häuser, Dörfchen, Inselchen…
eine Glasperlenkette.
English texts: Christina Egan © 2015
German texts: Christina Egan ©2016
Photographs: Christina Egan © 2014
Galerie Nieblum on Föhr; Hallig Hooge.
Satellite picture: NASA via Wikimedia.
From the flat, small, oval island of Föhr, you spot the even flatter, even smaller islands known as ‘Halligen’: their clusters of houses and trees on little dells are visible on the horizon far across the ocean.
The Halligen still get regularly flooded and are occasionally menaced by devastation. All these islands change shape over time, when the forces of wind and water eat away at their edges or add new land.
I wrote about a similar phenomenon observed on the Baltic Sea island of the Darss in Schöpfung (Darß).
A Quilt of Light and Shade
A quilt of light and shade,
a quilt of wind and heat
this solstice has become:
half fervour, half fatigue…
A quilt of sun and rain,
a quilt of green and grey,
brick red and blinding white
this city is today.
The boulevards are streams,
the roundabouts are whirls –
and fleetingly this seems
to be the best of worlds.
Christina Egan © 2012
In London, and in northern Europe in general, the weather is unsteady and unpredictable, even in midsummer. London has got a very great number of buildings in red brick, usually with window frames and decorative features in white, and plenty of trees, gardens, and parks. And it is very, very busy…
The summer solstice is also the subject of the previous post, This Day of June. As I am putting these poems online, there should be daylight till ten at night in England and some blue left in the sky even towards midnight — instead, there is not a ray of sunshine all day, and the sky is dark grey in the afternoon…
A Grand Canyon in grey,
imperceptibly turning to purple,
with an orange glow on its battlements –
but teeming in all its cracks,
with foam of blossom and bird-flight,
with currents of people and cars.
Not a city, but a county, a country,
a proud world in itself,
the planet in a valley,
an open oblong fruit,
rich with glistening seeds,
in the giant hand of clay
hollowed out by the Thames.
Photograph: Christina Egan © 2016
II. It is not mine, this city: I borrowed it. I borrowed it for a home, for a while, I borrowed its language, for good. Or it borrowed me, it borrowed my eyes to mount this tall bus, it borrowed my mouth to sing this new song. I run through its veins of walls and windows, of trees and lanterns… A Grand Canyon in grey. Or it runs through my veins, a pale-purple stream, murmuring, glittering… London, this moment of May. Christina Egan © 2013
Christina Egan 