Showers (Haiku)

Showers

*

Snow

A thousand snow-flakes,
sent from the moon to the lake
like little kisses.

*

Rain

The rain is dancing
on the skylight through the night.
We are wrapped in sleep.

*

*

Christina Egan ©2002

Raindrops on window, with pink flowers showing in the lens of each drop.
Raindrops on window, with flowers showing in each drop.
Photograph by Kumiko Shimizu on Unsplash.


rosengarten (II. sprühendgrau)

rosengarten

II.

sprühendgrau

die ungeahnten sonnenglanz vergießen
die regenschauer und den regenbogen
zu einem milden meeresgrau verwoben
die augen sollen meine verse grüßen.
dem nebelland das immerkalte wogen
in ungestümem reigentanz umschließen
den inseln voller sprühendgrüner wiesen
sind jene augen ursprünglich enthoben.
drum frag ich nicht nach lilien und lavendel
die flammen sprühen auf gebeugtem stengel
noch nach des südens uferlosem blau
nichts brauche ich als meinen kleinen garten
wo alle wunder lächelnd meiner warten
die bunte welt geballt in sprühendgrau.

Christina Egan ©2023

This sonnet is part of a cycle of 14 poems, whereby each line of the first one (rosengarten I. tiefversteckt) furnishes the first line of a new sonnet.

The island described here is Ireland, but the cycle takes you to other islands, as well as to the palace gardens of Würzburg, Germany, which first inspired me.

Word cloud of colours and flowers and in white on black; in the middle, "multi-coloured", "green", "golden".

Word cloud of colours in the German sonnet cycle (rosengarten I-XIV), generated on the Simple Word Cloud Generator. In the middle are “colourful”, “green”, and “golden”. Since the colours of the roses are not described, the roses themselves are added.

The Red Helicopter (Tottenham)

I have seen the red helicopter of the emergency services land in parks in Tottenham (Lordship Recreation Ground and Bruce Castle Park). In both cases it was the middle of the day, and in both cases, a teenager had been stabbed, once fatally and once nearly so. Another young man was shot and left to die in Tottenham Cemetery. All these green spaces are vast and idyllic.

See Himmelblaue Uhr (Tottenham) for Bruce Castle Park as a haven of tranquillity and Gedächtnisgarten zu Tottenham for the old cemetery as a garden of peace.

Still Here (Still striding)

Still Here

Still here:
still striding into the drizzle
across the buzzing roads
and straight across the green
with my hair getting frizzy
and my eyes getting dazzled
by the purple orbs
on the tale pale thistles

Still off-screen:
mounting the white cliff
of the sky-scraper
with my own eyes
still off-air
echoing the whistle
of the lime-green parrot
with my own voice
still off-map
facing the buffets
of the wilful winds
with my own face

Still no gloss
on top of the gloss
still no sheen
on top of the cream
upon the click of a button
the command of a machine

Still here:
still pounding
the moistened pavement
with my own feet
still brushing
the sparkling bush
with my own hands
still whispering
some half-rhymed lines
with my own lips

Christina Egan ©2023

Abstract painting of bright squares and rectangles in blue, green, orange, and yellow tones.
Paul Klee: Polyphony (1932). Kunstmuseum Basel.

Glasperlenlied

A dozen beads of gold, lapis lazuli, cornelian.Glasperlenlied

Die Stadt ist endlich dunkel, endlich still.
Und in der regenreinen Ruhe quillt
herauf, was unter dem Getümmel lag:
das Teppichmuster unterm Alltagstag.

Die Stunden ziehen bunt an mir vorüber,
verdichten, runden sich: Glasperlenlieder.
Mein Leben ist gering. Ich bin allein.
Doch brennt mein Herz und leuchtet wie der Wein.

Christina Egan © 2011

Minoan beads from Crete, of gold, lapis lazuli and cornelian, at least 3,500 years old.
Photograph
© The Trustees of the British Museum.

Suburban traffic jam / Vorstadtstau

Suburban traffic jam

It’s raining, the traffic is creeping,
the morning is seeping away…
The bus windows seem to be weeping
at boundless suburban grey.

Yet should a grenade or a comet
now strike us, as if to sift –
I’d meet my death as a poet,
I’ve smiled and I’ve breathed and I’ve lived!

Christina Egan © 2015


Vorstadtstau

Es regnet… Minuten verrinnen
im Vorstadtstau, Stoßzeitstau…
Die Autobusfenster verschwimmen
im uferlos traurigen Grau.

Und sollte der Tod uns jetzt lichten
– Granate oder Komet –
so hab’ ich gelächelt, gedichtet,
so hab’ ich geatmet, gelebt!

Christina Egan © 2015


These thoughts came to me on a bus near the spot in London where a man was shot dead by gangsters in 2015; no one has been charged with the crime. In 2016, another man was shot dead nearby by police. Later that year, another man was stabbed to death just down the road, near Wood Green Station.

Moreover, many terrorist attacks have happened in Europe, and many more have been prevented in London alone; but more are bound to afflict us.

Ich knabbre an Träumen

Ich knabbre an Träumen

I.

Ich knabbre an Träumen,
sie machen nicht fett,
sie machen den Mangel
an Leben nicht wett.

Sie füllen die Augen
mit flüchtigem Licht,
zerreißen das graue
Gewölk aber nicht.

Ich trinke Erinnrung
wie Tropfen von Gold
und spür’, wie die Zukunft,
die Zeit mir entrollt.

II.

Bundle of daffodils in front of a wooden fence in bright sunlight.

Ich klammre die Hände
um Murmeln aus Glas
und flüstere Wünsche
ins glitzernde Gras.

Die Murmeln sind tief
in den Taschen versteckt:
Noch nie hat ein Mensch
meine Träume entdeckt,

noch nie hat ein Freund
meine Träume geteilt,
am gläsernen bunten
Geäst sich erfreut.

III.

Es leuchten Narzissen
wie Sterne am Zaun,
wie stille Versprechen
im quellenden Raum.

Doch rinnt mit dem Regen
das Heute dahin…
Mir knistern wie Flammen
die Träume im Sinn,

wie blaßblaue Geister
und hellrote Glut –
O wehe den Menschen
mit Sehnsucht im Blut!

Christina Egan © 2012

Photograph: Christina Egan © 2017.

Loss (Rounded is My Life)

Loss

Rounded is my life, a jewel
sparkling in the summer rain,
spinning round the hollow axis
of a loss without a gain.

Will you for one moment only
silently pick up my pain,
hold it in your gentle hands and
watch the white and biting flame?

Will you say: I’ve seen you suffer?
Will you say: I’ve felt the same?
If you know me and you tell me,
then I have not lived in vain.

You alone can see the beauty
of this tall and forceful flame,
of this shadow of abundance,
of this ghost of life’s full game…

Shall I pass unknown, unnoticed,
shall I die in pointless pain?
You alone can read my eyes and
call me by my real name.

Christina Egan © 2013


The first half of this poem describes a bereavement or a loss akin to it, like a miscarriage or a divorce. The second half turns this work into a love poem or a religious poem; as often in my work, I keep it open. Some of these lines could therefore be read at a funeral.

It is June again, and in northern Europe, rain is as characteristic of this month as sunshine is, and it can be as pleasant! The season might also relate, as often in my poetry, to the person’s age: someone afflicted by loss in the midst of life, when they should be thriving.

Der Baum im Schulhof

Der Baum im Schulhof
(Marienschule Fulda)

Das Bäumchen stand im rosa Kleid,
das Mädchen stand im blauen;
sie waren fünfzehn Jahre alt
und lieblich anzuschauen,
wenn auch noch zierlich, kindlich gar,
nichts als ein Bündel Blüten…
Im Norden lag ein gelbes Haus,
der Schulhof lag im Süden.

Und als sie sich nun wiedersehn
in eben jenen Mauern,
da sind sie fünfzig Jahre alt
und herrlich anzuschauen,
wie Wolken stattlich hingewölbt
und strahlend unter Schauern:
der Baum im dunkelrosa Kleid,
die Frau im dunkelblauen.

Christina Egan © 2015

You can look at the blossoming  Tree in the Schoolyard
and the yellow building online at Marienschule Fulda. 

The story of the schoolgirl and the tree, meeting at fifteen
years old and then at fifty, may work in a translation software.

Winter Views from the Bus

Winter Views from the Bus

*

Pink watering cans
lying flat in the drizzle,
dreaming undisturbed.

*

The yellow front door
in the long row of houses:
It stands out. It smiles.

*

The moon, veiled in mist,
floats in the darkness above
the bright white clockface.

*

Christina Egan © 2012

I was looking at the clocks of St Pancras Station at
King’s Cross, but you could equally observe Big Ben.

There is no ‘London fog’ any more since coal fires were
outlawed — 
yet there are still a lot of mist and fumes…

In northern countries, there is very little colour in winter,
so you need to look out for splinters of colour and rejoice!