Kurven von Tinte und Ketten von Lettern, Wörter und Worte wie bunte Girlanden steigen und ziehn über Erde und Meer… Ketten von Lettern, die leuchten und flattern, bunte Girlanden, die kreisen und landen, zaubern dir lautlose Rede her…
Es ist bloß Papier, es sind bloß Gedanken, doch bringen sie Herzen und Häuser ins Wanken und fallen gleich Samen in wartenden Sand. Was ist das Geheimnis der Blätter, der Briefe? Als ob eine Seele die andere riefe… Als ob ein Geist den andern entflammt!
Ich bin wieder da :o) ! My anthology of poetry is back!
Some of you have wondered why I have not posted anything recently. I have continued writing, of course, and have had poems published in newspapers and on calendars, which I shall all put up here also.
Two years ago, I had already published 600 of my best poems on this site, so I have raised my target from 500 to 1,000 poems! This is not about mass, though, this is about quality of poetry.
Half of the texts are in English and half in German, so I hope that many readers in many countries can enjoy them. My comments are in English, trusting that most of you can read them easily. Remember that automatic translations cannot convey the magic of literary language. Sometimes, I translate my verse, or rather, recreate it in the other language. (These posts are marked as Parallel poems.)
Feel free to use my poems and photos for any non-commercial purposes as long as you always give my name or the name of the site (Christina Egan – Poetry & Plays), and if it is online, link to the post or the site. (See copyright note below.)
Keep reading and reciting poetry – and perhaps writing some!
Wir brauchen gar nicht viel zu reden
und haben uns doch so rasch erkannt…
Es ist,
als seien wir in einem andern Leben
Hand in Hand
durch die lachenden Felder gerannt
und hätten uns, ernsthaft und atemlos,
ein Versprechen gegeben –
oder als seien unsere Sprachen
eng miteinander verwandt:
dein Gesicht will ich entziffern,
deine Worte erleben
und deine Hand…
Als welche Botschaft, Freund,
sind wir einander gesandt?
London, This Moment of May I.London, this moment of May.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.
This poem about homecoming to a big city could refer to a place where someone grew up; or where they lived in the past; or where they may have lived in a former life on earth.
Therefore, the mysterious golden face which is the key to the past could be a late relative; or a lost friend; or else a historical figure. I was thinking of this portrait at the back of Cologne Cathedral.
Christina Egan 