Riders of the Whales
I turn my face towards you
the riders of the waves
the riders of the whales
not as masters
but as friends
I lay the shimmering isles
into your unknown hands
I lift my smile
like a bright-blue flag
to one who wields the wand
and strikes the rock
to turn the wasteland
velvety and fragrant
once again
I lift my cup
of bittersweet brew
to one who turns the wheel
and shifts the clouds
to make the frosty stream
a sparkling wall
once again
I sweep the ashes
and lay the bricks
I feed the seeds for you
I grow the words for you
I beg your forgiveness
and scatter blessings on you
the yet unborn
Christina Egan ©2021
ocean
The Keystone of the Sky
The Keystone of the Sky
When you see the sea-gull rising
From the glowing sand and sea
Through the narrow iron railings
Of your room and balcony
When you see the sea-gull soaring
From the far end of the quay
At the far end of the island:
Know that you will soon be free
When you see the sea-gull floating
Like the keystone of the sky
Like the king of land and ocean:
Know that you will rise as high
You will cross the glassy water
On a warm auspicious wind
You will sparkle like the crescent
Risen from the ocean’s rim
When you see the sea-gull rising
From the glowing sand and sea
Let your heart be lifted with it:
Know that you will soon be free
Christina Egan ©2013
>>> Waiting to be set to music!
Trefflich (Gazakrieg)
Trefflich
Ach, wozu noch Meeresblau
je beschwören und wozu
Wellenschlag und Morgentau,
wenn ein Paar bestickter Schuh
bunt aus Schutt und Asche schaut,
– angefaucht und fortgefegt –
und die namenlose Braut
nie mehr ihre Füße hebt,
nie ein Kind zum Himmel hält…
Ach, wie bleibt das Meer bloß blau?
Denn es stirbt die ganze Welt,
frißt der Drache eine Frau.
Fällt die Kugel einen Mann,
klagt ein ganzes Engelheer.
Lautlos schreit ein Schlüsselbund
aus dem Schrott,– doch hört ihn wer?
Paßt der Schlüssel auch ins Schloß,
hängt die Tür in schräger Wand,
denn ein treffliches Geschoß
riß das Haus halb in den Sand.
Immer wieder gibt es Krieg
voller Lügen, voller Lärm.
Niemals aber gibt es Sieg,
nur die Hoffnung wie ein Stern.
Christina Egan ©2024
(Gazakrieg)
In this poem, War is personalised as a hissing dragon burning, devouring, or blasting away everything in its way.
The title is a pun on an old word for “excellent”, literally “hitting precisely”: in a war, success is based on destruction.
On October 7th, 2023, the Palestinian terror organisation Hamas committed a massacre and mass abduction in Israel, whereupon the Israeli Government launched a war on the Palestinian territory of Gaza. It has since attacked the West Bank and invaded neighbouring country Lebanon, where the terror organisation Hezbollah de facto rules. The aim on both sides is evidently genocide. This is destruction against destruction, revenge upon revenge, genocide versus genocide.
Tepid Tides
Tepid Tides
Amongst the jungle on the isle’s edge
the tepid tides have carved a golden heart
of salt
and rock –
Just so, your voice’s limpid surf has etched
into my soul a secret golden mark
so – drop –
by drop –
Christina Egan ©2023
***
A poem for
Valentine’s Day!
It sounds like a very long relationship…
Inspired by a postcard of a heart-shaped island.
Orange and Turquoise (Crete)
Orange and Turquoise
(Crete)
orange and amber
the southern soil
like fresh fruit
like lush flesh
turquoise and azure
the sun-steeped sea
like human eyes
like human souls
Christina Egan © 2012
orangerot und türkis
(Kreta)
orangerot
und ocker loht
die stille bucht
wie fleisch und frucht
türkis azur
der wellentanz
wie augenglanz
und aurenspur
Christina Egan © 2016
A reddish orange and a greenish blue are complementary colours and will therefore be more striking in combination.
In the Mediterranean, strong light and heat prevail even in late September.
I found this beach at the edge of the five-thousand-year-old town of Chania on Crete.
You can read more about the bright blue and green sea in Kretische Küste and about the reddish soil in The Dittany of Crete.
Murals in the royal palace at Knossos, Crete.
Watercolour of crocuses by Arthur J. Evans: Photograph provided by Digital Bodleian Library under CC BY-NC-SA 3.0.
Photograph of spirals: Harrieta171 via Wikimedia.
Decorative paper. Photograph provided by British Library through Flickr .
Tabucchis Blau
Tabucchis Blau
hochsommerhimmel
über Lissabons hügeln
so blau daß es beinahe beißt
so schön daß es beinahe schmerzt
und vor der gleißenden steilen
vielfach verschachtelten stadt
ruft mit demselben trunknen blau
die bucht dir unbeirrbar zu:
du stehst immer am anfang
einer entdeckungsfahrt!
Christina Egan © 2012
„con… il sole che splendeva, e con una città che scintillava, letteralmente scintillava sotto la sua finestra, e un azzurro, un azzurro mai visto, sostiene Pereira, di un nitore che quasi feriva gli occhi…”
Antonio Tabucchi, Sostiene Pereira
Antonio Tabucchi (1943-2012) loved Lisbon and lived there. I wrote this poem for him when he died: his last voyage would be the one to another, even more beautiful world. The last line can, however, be interpreted in many other ways.
Illustration: “Elba — Land der Esel” by Ottilie Ehlers-Kollwitz (1955). With kind permission of Galerie Klaus Spermann.
Dankbar für die kleinen Dinge
Dankbar für die kleinen Dinge
Dankbar für die kleinen Dinge,
dankbar für die Jahresringe,
für die weißen Schmetterlinge
und den Sonnenblumenstrauch.
Dankbar für die kleinen Wunder,
unverhofft und unbesungen,
für die sonnenfrohen Stunden
und die sternenstillen auch.
Dankbar für die kleinen Pausen,
für des Laubes sanftes Bauschen,
für des Meeres hehres Rauschen
und der Symphonien Rausch.
Dankbar für die kleinen Zeichen,
für ein rasches Händereichen,
für ein Lächeln ohnegleichen
und der Blicke echten Tausch.
Christina Egan © 2018
Clock on the beach promenade,
Ahlbeck on Usedom. Photograph:
Christina Egan © 2017.
Quiet Fire
Quiet Fire
In balmy darkness
I was floating
over sand and salt,
along the garland of lights,
below the curtain of stars…
One fell.
In a flash, I thought of
my distant beloved one,
in a flood, it came back,
the impossible future.
He, too,
had come like a shooting-star,
fair, fast, in a sweeping curve,
with careless grace,
like a message from life.
Cold is the sea now and rough,
with dullness tainted the days
and the sparkling tent of the night.
The quiet fire has passed:
the face that mattered.
Around me is autumn,
and I know that spring will return
and my youth will not.
The voice that struck me is silent;
and my heart eats death.
Christina Egan © 2012
A memory of the Mediterranean Sea, where one can swim, and swim even in after dark, even into autumn…
Decorative paper. Image provided by British Library through Flickr.
Rosenquarzkammern
Rosenquarzkammern
Silberblech, angehaucht
Von allen Winden, schiefergrau
Und goldgekräuselt, rollt aus
Sich die See, bis sie
Des anderen Landes Füße berührt,
Die Türme der Stadt gegenüber.
Durch Rosenquarzkammern
Schimmert der sinkende Tagstern,
Reißt gleißend das Tor auf.
Den weißen Schiffen aber
Gleich menschentragenden Möwen
Folget das Auge hinaus,
Folget das Herz hinüber
Und wünschet sich Brücken,
Aus silbernen Fäden gesponnen,
Geknüpft über Wogen und Wald…
Christina Egan © 2017
This is the view onto the Öresund bridge which connects two countries, Denmark and Sweden, although it turns into a tunnel in the midst of the water, so that it seems to go under… The style of the poem is that of two hundred years ago, when such long bridges could not yet be constructed; the speaker only wishes for roads across, instead of the sea itself as a path.
I tried to convey the expansion of the elements and the symphony of grey, white, silver, golden, pink.
You can read English poems about a suspension bridges at On the Orange Bridge (San Francisco) and Tranquil Dragon (London).
Photograph of raw rose quarz by Ra’ike [GFDL or CC BY-SA 3.0], via Wikimedia Commons.
Schimmernder Streif
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!
Christina Egan 