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Augustfest

~ Christina Egan ~ Leave a comment

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.

Orange Butterflies

~ Christina Egan ~ Leave a comment

Orange Butterflies
(Monarch Butterflies)

Brittle ochre leaves…
No – sinewy butterflies,
waiting through winter!

*

Orange butterflies,
tiny, tender, untiring,
crossing continents.

*

A swift golden cloud:
a million bright butterflies
following their stars.

*

Christina Egan © 2016

Clusters of deep-orange butterflies on deep-green leaves, similary shaped.

Monarch butterflies cluster in Santa Cruz, California.
Photograph by Brocken Inaglory via Wikimedia Commons.

May Haiku (Bruce Castle)

~ Christina Egan ~ Leave a comment

May Haiku
(Bruce Castle)

Glowing orange orbs,
cluster of new-born planets:
this year’s first roses!

*

Dusk, delayed, scented:
the earth emerged from the dark,
bedecked like a bride.

*

Below the half-moon
a low-flying aeroplane
slices up the sky.

*

The tower-clock strikes,
bright, as if an angel called:
Be alive! Alive!

Christina Egan © 2013

—

You can see a photo of Bruce Castle, Tottenham, London and read some similar poetry in German at Himmelblaue Uhr.

London, This Moment of May

~ Christina Egan ~ Leave a comment
London, This Moment of May I. London, this moment of May. High stately building, lower part in deep shade, upper part brightly lit, with red double-decker bus passing.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
The title alludes to the famous line by Virginia Woolf: “… what she loved; life; London; this moment of June.” I happened to write my poem in May, on a red bus…
P.S.: A year later, the climate across Europe has slid further into resentment towards foreigners or strangers of any description, be they war refugees or your next-door neighbours. There is a lot of blind anger and fear of vague entities like ‘Europe’ or ‘Islam’. This is the road to racism and fascism. My essay about my identity as an immigrant to England stayed on the front page of trade union UNISON‘s website for weeks: I dream in English. I come from one country, live in another, and plan to move to a third; yet my main identity is European at any rate!
>>> These poems were published in the Haringey Community Press (circulation 15,000) in September 2022.

Winter Sunrise in Morocco / in England

~ Christina Egan ~ Leave a comment

Winter Sunrise in Morocco

Orange tree full of fruit and rose tree with large roses in front of high pink wallsthe rainbow scarf of the sky
stretched out above the battlements

awesome and unnoticed
by the markets which never sleep

and millions of golden roses
rolled out along the highways

in the carved and inlaid caskets
of the powdery-pink courtyards

strings of peach-coloured roses
clusters of orange-blossom and fruit

Christina Egan © 2012

Photograph: Christina Egan © 2012

You can read a German poem about a Moroccan city at In Marrakesch. The buildings and walls of Marrakesh are pink by law!

Around the turn of the year, I found it warm and sunny by day and pleasantly mild by night. In fact, people were hoping for some rain…

—

Winter sunrise in England

at the edge of the orb of the earth
a mighty web of finest twigs

painted onto leaf gold
by a master’s hand

and then the blob of molten gold
so bright that it seems to melt them too

like a favour from the heavens
like the face of a god

as if life were possible
one more day one more winter

Christina Egan © 2012

—

In northern Europe, the winter is so hard that by the beginning of spring, you may feel, even if you are not at all old, that it was the last one you reached.

In Germany, it is cold by day and by night for many months, there is snow and ice, and above all, the nights are long and the days often dull so that you may not see the face of the sun for days; in England, the cold is less bitter, but — which is worse — it reaches indoors…

Roof-Tile / Plateau

~ Christina Egan ~ Leave a comment

Roof-Tile
(Béziers)

Lower half shows ancient wall with lichen and moss, upper half houses and roofs with motley tiles

A roof-tile, grooved: a hill, a dell,
in broken ochre, earthy red,
with greenish circles in between;
a piece of world, of time a shred.

And then I see: the whole old roof
is such a patch of orange clay –
the whole old town in weathered brown,
resplendent in a tender ray!

Christina Egan © 2016

—

Plateau
(Béziers)

Roof with motley tiles - Detail of above photo

Life is a gnarled and narrow hill,
so steep as scarcely to be climbed:
you scramble, stumble, slide or fall,
you stay below, you stay behind.

Then opens, through a hedge or wall,
a gap, a gate, an avenue,
a whole plateau, a spilling well,
a plain beneath your startled view!

Christina Egan © 2016

—

Round basin in park, with trees, houses and statue mirroredTwo views from the ancient city of Béziers in France, which is piled up
on a couple of steep hilltops: the first view is from the Cathedral tower; the second, from the park called Parc des poètes / Plateau des poètes.

Well… the respite after struggles and setbacks might be found in enjoying or creating art — or in life itself!

Old Town of Beziers, with red roofs dominating, landscape round horizon.While getting lost and strained in the lanes of Béziers reminded me of nightmares, exploring the Cathedral like a giant Crystal Rock  induced me to create the word ‘lightmare’!

Photographs: Béziers from the Cathedral roof ; Parc des poètes. Christina Egan © 2016

Fiery Flowers for Valentine’s Day

~ Christina Egan ~ Leave a comment

RedFlowers_2015Dec15_06

To My Valentine

The lily licking like a fire,
the lily luminous like snow:
I find them both in you, my flower,
I bask in their contrasting glow!

Christina Egan © 2016

 

Two nasturtium flowers in very strong orange with some of their large round leaves in fresh green

 

Zum Valentinstag

In dem feuerfarbnen Blumenstrauß
hab’ ich dir die Sonne eingefangen,
hab’ sie hingezaubert in dein Haus,–
hast du meine Botschaft mitempfangen…?

Christina Egan © 2012

—

Often, I translate my own verse, but these are two different Valentine poems.

Photographs: Flowers just before Christmas! Christina Egan © 2015

Kretische Küste

~ Christina Egan ~ Leave a comment

Kretische Küste

I.

Vor mir ein grünes Meer, ein roter Strand
und hinter mir die himmelhohe Wand
der Weißen Berge, mit Gesträuch schraffiert,
mit Schluchten aufgeteilt, vom Mond berührt.

Es schwindelt mich, so schroff ist es und schön…
ich möchte mitten ins Gebirge gehn,
als sei es eines Mannes Wohlgestalt
und berge sein Gemüt in jedem Spalt.

II.

Der kupferfarbne Sand wird doch zu Gold,
wo er in steiler Woge niederrollt
und sich mit jenem Brennendblau benetzt,
das kommt und nochmals kommt… und jetzt… und jetzt.

Und Disteln starren in dem dürren Strand,
die plötzlich strahlen wie von Zauberhand,
wenn erster Regen flüchtig niedersteigt
und Brautkleidblüten aus den Blättern treibt!

III.

Wo täglich Himmel sich mit Meer vermählt
und Landes Rand von anderm Strand erzählt,
wo trockne Erde wie der Tagstern loht
von silbriggold bis zu orangerot,

wo noch bei Nacht das Wasser, kaum bewegt,
den Leib in schwerelosem Zauber trägt,
bis in das sanfte Schwarz ein Schweifstern stürzt –
dort laß uns warten auf den milden Herbst.

IV.

Mit riesenhaften grünen Pranken greift
das Meer hinein in den geschützten Kreis
des kleinen Hafens, daß die Mole schäumt
und sich die bunte Schar der Boote bäumt.

Des späten Herbstes erstes Fauchen fährt
in letzte schwere Hitze wie ein Schwert.
Fünftausend Jahre aber ragt die Stadt
ins Element, gelassen, sonnensatt.

Christina Egan © 2014

Flourishes on a mural, turquoise on luminous red and yello

For more poetry and information
on Knossos and Chania on Crete
see my English poems
 The Pattern of a Yesterday and
Golden Dell.

 

Frieze in the royal palace at Knossos, Crete.
Photograph: Harrieta171 via Wikimedia.

First Autumn Days / Erste Herbsttage

~ Christina Egan ~ Leave a comment

First Autumn Days
(September Haiku)

*

Fiery flower,
still sucking sunshine, still scaling
the wooden fence.

*

The sky turns deep pink
above the first rusty leaves
and burning berries.

*

The moon, low and large,
a knob of solid silver
on heaven’s sceptre.

***

Erste Herbsttage

*

Feurige Blume,
noch saugst du die Sonne ein,
kletterst den Zaun hoch.

*

Tiefrosa Himmel,
erste rostrote Blätter,
brennende Beeren.

*

Der Mond, niedrig, groß,
solide Silberkugel
am Himmelszepter.

*

Christina Egan © 2015

*

Haiku have 5 + 7 + 5 syllables.
The German haiku are translated
from the English ones.

On Orange Sails / Yellow Balloon

~ Christina Egan ~ Leave a comment

On Orange Sails

On orange sails
across the ocean
of the sky,
towards the land
of lust and rest,
the butterfly
must toil and flail,
must drift and dream –
like you and I…
On orange sails
I still woo you,
my butterfly.

Christina Egan ©2014

Yellow Balloon

The matching dreams of you and me
are mellow streams of scented noon,
are yellow reams of solid silk,
to sew into a huge balloon
and blow it up with double breath
and fire it with blazing love
to sail across the heaving sky –
for us, the sea is not enough!

Christina Egan ©2014

There are more poems and a photograph at Orange Butterflies.
There is now also an anniversary poem about a Red Balloon!