night

Psalm (Lachen werden die Seen)

~ Christina Egan ~ Leave a comment

Psalm
(Lachen werden die Seen)

Noch einmal schlagen die Glocken
und schweigen. Tief atmet endlich der See.

Im Laube schweben gleich geronnenem Licht
Tupfer von weichem Weiß und Gelb.

Duftend, betäubend bäumt sich die Erde
ungezähmt in den späten Himmel.

Auf dunkelgoldenen Schwingen
naht von den Bergen die Nacht;

selten sanft und blau wird sie sein
und sterngeschmückt wie eine Braut.

Tanzen, tanzen werden die Berge,
und lachen, lachen werden die Seen!

Christina Egan ©2011

Cascades of luscious purple flowers and tall palm-trees in the sunset.

Let the floods clap their hands / let the hills be joyful together!

Die Ströme sollen frohlocken / und die Berge seien fröhlich!

Psalm 98,8

Northern Tenerife in January! Taoro Parque, Puerto de la Cruz.
Photograph: Christina Egan ©2019.

Vision (In den Augen den Mittag)

~ Christina Egan ~ Leave a comment

Vision

Woman leaning on a sandstone wall, looking out on green fields and blue ocean, her blond hair lifted by the wind.In den Augen den Mittag,
den Mittelmeermittag –
In den Haaren die Nacht,
braunsamtene Nacht –

In den Augen die Sonne,
im Wellenspiel glitzernd –
In den Haaren den Wind,
wildseidenen Wind –

Christina Egan © 2014

A luminous winter day on a Mediterranean island… or rather, the beginning of a lush spring as early as February. – Photograph: Christina Egan © 2018.

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 Wine

~ Christina Egan ~ Leave a comment

Purple Wine

I.

Deep purple and pure is this wine,
the midsummer’s fire condensed,
expanding inside me, immense:
your kiss – you are finally mine.

Large flat flower in white and purple, with long purple stem, small orange fruit, shiny green leaves.

II.

There’s twenty-one words on the paper,
of wine and a night I forgot:
yet flowers and fruits bore my plot,
your kiss sparkles many years later…

Christina Egan © 2005 (I) / 2020 (II)

Photograph: Christina Egan © 2016.

In Starless Night

~ Christina Egan ~ Leave a comment

In sternloser Nacht

In sternloser Nacht
ein Silberfleck auf dem Moos:
verirrtes Fröschlein…
In den Garten, ins Gedicht
und hinaus hüpfen Frösche!

Muddy pond with tadpole amongst aquatic plants.

In the starless night
a silver speck on the moss:
a little lost frog…
In and out of my garden,
of my poems, those frogs hop!

Christina Egan © 2017

Muddy pond with waterlilies amongst greenery.

For another tanka about frogs in honour of Basho, see Waiting for the Frog.

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

I’ve Caught a Star

~ Christina Egan ~ Leave a comment

I’ve Caught a Star

I’ve caught a star
and hold it tight,
it warms my heart,
it fills the night.

Yours is a kiss
as none before,
I know I need
now nothing more.

You are all men
and women, too,
the town, the land,
the earth are you.

You are the sun,
the sparkling day,
the magic moon,
the milky way.

You are the zest
upon my lip,
the only smile
that will unzip,

the only hand
that will hand back
each grain of corn,
each drop of sap.

Christina Egan © 2003

Children of the sun and moon

~ Christina Egan ~ Leave a comment

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

Abendstern (Kaum erspäh ich)

~ Christina Egan ~ Leave a comment

Abendstern

Kaum erspäh ich dich von fern
meinen klaren Abendstern

schlägt mein Herz schon
Purzelbäume
schlägt mein Geist schon
Wurzelträume

in die dunkelblaue Nacht
in die späte Sommerpracht

Park in the dusk, with heart-shaped illuminated decoration, forming a frame around a spire in the distance.

 

Dein Gesicht ist mein Gestirn
an dem schwarzen Himmelsschirm

niemand hört die
Purzelbäume
niemand sieht die
Wurzelträume

unter meinem festen Schritt
unter meinem ruhigen Blick

Niemand weiß von jenem Punkt
der mir funkelt der mir funkt

von den kühnen
Purzelbäumen
von den bunten
Wurzelträumen

niemand weiß was mich bewegt
wenn die Glocke zwölfmal schlägt

Christina Egan © 2011

Valentine’s Day on Gozo, Malta.
Photograph: Christina Egan © 2018.

Tranquil Dragon

~ Christina Egan ~ Leave a comment

Tranquil Dragon

Embroidered with orange lights
are the fanned steel wings of the bridge

suspended in the summer night,
a tranquil dragon bringing luck. 

Wide is the night and warm,
like the dark wine of old and ardent love.

The sky reads the low, slow river
as my eye reads yours in a dream.

Sparkling with lights is the city,
sparkling with lights is my soul.

Christina Egan © 2003

Dragons, of course, are noble and bring luck in Chinese mythology.

I must have been thinking of Hammersmith Bridge in London.

You can read more poems about suspension bridges at On the Orange Bridge (San Francisco) and Rosenquarzkammern (Malmö).

August Night / Nur Asche zu essen

~ Christina Egan ~ Leave a comment

August Night

The night is short and moist and sweet,
with secret sprouting life replete…
and stark and bitter all the same.

There is no peace on golden wings,
there is no peace from silver limbs…
only a tiny steady flame.

Christina Egan © 2012

In the midst of abundant midsummer,
the narrator has not found peace — neither
through prayer or meditation nor through
the presence of a beloved person.

The following poem laments the unborn dead,
whose graves are nameless and forgotten and
who never saw the light of the sun — although
angels may have taken them elsewhere…

Nur Asche zu essen

Nur Asche zu essen,
nur Lehm statt Brot,
nur Erde zu wissen:
der bitterste Tod.

Den Leib ohne Atem,
das Aug ohne Licht,
das Grab ohne Namen:
das schärfste Gericht.

Die niemals Gebornen,
fast ohne Gewicht,
von Engeln Verborgnen:
Vergesset sie nicht.

Christina Egan © 2018