leaves

Shooting-stars (Damp Wood)

~ Christina Egan ~ Leave a comment

Shooting-stars

Damp wood, damp walls: the world smells of decay.
The scented roses are resurgent, yet
too many leaves are falling, fallen, wet
across the spotless lawn, the winding way.
Above Bruce Castle’s reddish parapet
and wayward weather-vane, the veil of grey
is torn apart to let a dazzling ray
caress the clock-face, still for summer set.
The light is fierce and will not be subdued,
the clock smiles sky-blue with a rim of gold,
the grass is glittering and fresh and bold,
and then the sky itself triumphs, renewed.
All this eclipsing, flash on flash, they pass:
the parakeets, a dozen shooting-stars.

Christina Egan ©2020

Turret painted in pink, with bright-blue clockface and golden weather-vane, under a blue sky.
Bruce Castle, Tottenham, England.
Photograph: Christina Egan ©2017.

This sonnet was read at an
event of Tottenham Trees
at Bruce Castle Museum
in November 2024, together
with Thought Bench and
Hollow Oak (Anglo-Saxon spell).

I Do Not Ask for Love / A Thousand Leaves

~ Christina Egan ~ Leave a comment

I Do Not Ask for Love

I do not ask for love,
for I have none to give –
and yet I beg for life,
for leave to make you live,

to live as if the day
were fitting like a glove,
to breathe as if to pray
to beauty were enough,

to tremble as if time
had finished or begun,
to let two faces shine
as if two hearts were one.

I do not ask for words
of last or lasting love,
I cannot offer worlds –
one kiss shall be enough.

Christina Egan ©2006

Maple leaf, close-up, flaming golden and orange against dull background.

A Thousand Leaves

A thousand leaves in brownish bronze,
a thousand leaves thrust by the wind,
a rustling sea… a jostling crowd…
And then, with sudden sunset glint,
with guileless smile, one reaches out.

Christina Egan ©2010

Sycamore leaf. Photograph: Christina Egan ©2020.

Der Himmel reißt auf

~ Christina Egan ~ Leave a comment

Der Himmel reißt auf

Zierliche Zweige, schwarz
gegen den Honighimmel,
Pfirsichhimmel,
Flammenhimmel,
die einzelnen winzigen Blätter
klare Keilschriftzeichen
auf irdenen Tafeln,
leicht in der Hand
und schwer von Geheimnis.

Der Himmel reißt auf,
gezacktes Gewölk steigt,
spreizt sich, schwenkt Geärm,
rosa Riesenkoralle
vor blaßblauer Südsee,
zuckt auf, fällt zusammen,
zieht fort, violett verwelkt,
aschene Spur im Äther.
Welch verschwenderischer Glanz…

Christina Egan © 2017

Waiting for the Frog

~ Christina Egan ~ Leave a comment

Warten auf den Frosch

Warme nasse Nacht:
Ich will sehn, wie der alte Frosch
in den Teich springt!
Hockt er da drüben, glänzend?
Ach, bloß ein Bündel Blätter…

Muddy pond with waterlilies amongst greenery.

Waiting for the Frog

In the warm wet night
I want to watch the old frog
leap into the pond!
Is he crouching there, shiny?
Oh, just a bundle of leaves…

Christina Egan © 2016

Muddy pond with tadpole amongst aquatic plants.

For another tanka about frogs in honour of Basho, see In Starless Night.

Frog pond. Note the tiny tadpole! Photographs: Christina Egan © 2014.

Purple Dusk (Bankside, London)

~ Christina Egan ~ Leave a comment

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.

Coal Tits / Leaf Surf

~ Christina Egan ~ Leave a comment

Coal Tits

Coal tits are weaving through the leaves,
leaves tinged with gold and tinged with rust;
the earth, relieved of darkness, breathes
before the leaves will turn to dust.

Coal tits are chirping in the leaves,
wings tinged with fire, tinged with ashes;
their song is weaving with the breeze
through our windows’ rigid meshes…

Christina Egan © 2017

Songbird with yellow breast, otherwise grey, black & white, on bare branch with orange lichen.

Leaf Surf

The lawn lies like an emerald bay,
like golden sand the fallen leaves.
The wind is waltzing on the roofs,
the wind is leaping through the streets,
it rolls into the shimmering heaps,
it stirs them up, it whirls them up,
it sweeps a wilful whispering surf
onto the sun-bathed autumn turf!
The earth takes one last joyful breath
before the shade falls like a spell.
That there is so much death in life
and so much dancing life in death…

Christina Egan © 2017

Photograph by makamuki0 (Marc Pascual).

Pluck the Day / This Silvery Sound

~ Christina Egan ~ Leave a comment

Pluck the Day

Large flat flower in white and purple, with long purple stem, small orange fruit, shiny green leaves.Save time! Save time!
Spend time! Sell time!
Pile time, file time!
Fill time, kill time!

Live time…
leave time…
give time…
weave time.

Close-up of poppy flower with dew or rain on it, above other red, orange, purple, and white flowers.Pluck the hour,
pluck the day,
golden-green or
silver-grey.

Pluck time…
peel time…
suck time…
feel time.

Christina Egan © 2009

This Silvery Sound

This silvery, surging, curling sound:
the whispering leaves
of the urban trees…
O listen, O listen and look around:
the silvery greens
like a dream of the seas…
And fading away as soon as found.

Christina Egan © 2018

Photographs: Christina Egan © 2016.

Erdbeerlaub

~ Christina Egan ~ Leave a comment

Erdbeerlaub

Sunset over English suburb: clear pale sky with one rack of red clouds above the roofs.Nach hartem Tag die stille Stunde.
Ins Gras gewaschen ist der Staub,
und ringsherum glühn rote Punkte
im wildgewordnen Erdbeerlaub.

Das Erdreich duftet nach dem Regen;
am Himmel schwebt ein roter Streif.
Wie oft doch überrascht das Leben
uns überreich und überreif!

Tall brick chimney with blackbird sitting on top.Ein jedes Walderdbeerchen leuchtet
noch einmal auf, bevor es birst
und meine Zunge süß befeuchtet…
Die Amsel flötet auf dem First.

Christina Egan © 2018

Photographs: Christina Egan © 2018.

Window Seat

~ Christina Egan ~ Leave a comment

Window Seat

You beat me to the window seat,
Silhouette of man against tall window with curtains.the secret poets’ nest;
you watched the broad and busy street,
a highway on your quest.

You beat me to the poets’ prize,
without a rhyme or form:
you saw the faces floating by
in the approaching storm,

you caught the litter and the leaves,
the puddles and the birds
and strung them as bizarre bright beads
on your vibrating verse.

Christina Egan © 2019

The poem has its origin in a coffee bar in a busy high street in London. It was published in the Tottenham Community Press (print issue of December 2018).

The elusive poet in a window seat. Photograph: Christina Egan © 2017.

die unterseite der ahornblätter

~ Christina Egan ~ Leave a comment

die unterseite
der ahornblätter

die unterseite
der ahornblätter
zu entziffern
bin ich bestellt

die verästelungen
der äderchen
die lebenslinien
und altersflecken

pergament
durchsichtig
gegen das licht
liebesgedichte

bettlerschalen
dankbar und demütig
bischofskelche
frohgemut hochgemut

die unterseite
der ahornblätter
zu besingen
bin ich geboren

Christina Egan © 2019

—

Die Unterseite der Möwenflügel

Die Unterseite der Möwenflügel
läßt mich die sinkende Sonne erahnen,
das ragende Raster der Fensterspiegel
darf mir ihr blendendes Angesicht rahmen!

Dies ist die Kreuzung voll Hast und Getöse,
Räder und Füße wie wirbelndes Laub,–
dies ist der Augenblick, den ich erlese,
Blitzen und Blinzeln im zehrenden Staub.

Christina Egan © 2019