A Lonely Star
A lonely star surveys the streets.
The dark is brownish, blurred by lamps.
The cold is damp and slowly creeps
through draughty windows, long-locked doors.
Bats flit about like ghostly hands.
A blinking helicopter roars;
the city stirs and sighs and sleeps.
The star looks down and frowns and stands.
Christina Egan © 2017
Decorative paper. Image provided
by British Library through Flickr.
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
Mild Christmas Eve
My heavy gate to heaven
has got a secret crack,
and sometimes sunlike flashes
steal through the sudden gap.
There are no stars this Christmas
but those in your sweet face,
no snow and sparkling crystals
but those in your embrace.
You are my splendid banquet,
you are the birth of mirth,
you’ll be my earth in heaven –
my heaven here on earth.
Christina Egan © 2004
Photograph by Gabriel Pollard [CC BY-SA 2.5].
Featured picture on Wikimedia Commons.
Hochsommernacht
Ich nehme die Straße der Wolken am Abend,
behutsame Brandung aus goldener Gischt,
bei Nacht aber über dem langsamen Rade
der Sterne die Straße aus silbernem Licht.
Verbleichende Landstriche harren des Regens,
verdorrende Büsche erflehen sich Frucht,–
und ich bete stumm um das Glück meines Lebens,
umschlungen von seligem Hochsommerduft.
Christina Egan © 2018
The German word for ‘Midsummernight’ sounds the same, but refers to July and August rather than solstice. A person yearns for a companion as the earth and the plants yearn for water. This poem was written in the great heat and draught of 2018 (which I personally enjoyed… rather like a cactus!).
Photograph: Christina Egan © 2014.
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 dich von fern
meinen klaren Abendstern
schlägt mein Herz schon
Purzelbäume
schlägt mein Geist schon
Wurzelträume
in die dunkelblaue Nacht
in die späte Sommerpracht
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.
This is the End
Most days are too harsh, and most days are too dark,
and most hours are trundling along through a void,
while the moons fade away, barely leaving a ray,
and proud cities, piled up to the clouds, are destroyed.
Yet all will be well, yes, it yet will be well,
and all manner of things will be well in the end,
when in fathomless bliss like a fathomless kiss
all the stars, all the spirits will brighten and blend.
Christina Egan © 2004
Lines five and six are a quote from Sister Julian of Norwich,
an English hermit and mystic who lived six hundred years ago.
In Advent, which this year starts today, Christians also think of
the inevitable and terrifying end of the world.
The Tower of Jericho, around 9,000 years old. Photograph:
Reinhard Dietrich (Own work), via Wikimedia Commons.
Do Diamonds Die?
Even diamonds die.
Empires erode,
battlements decay,
skyscrapers melt.
Not so what locks
your look into my look,
my heart into your heart.
Love will live.
With or without a night
or even a day,
a confession, a vow.
Love is born love.
Diamonds have grown for us,
as rare in the vast dark soil
as stars in the fathomless void.
Heaven does happen.
Christina Egan © 2004
Illustration from a children’s book of 1896.
Image provided by British Library through Flickr.
P.S.: Reader, he married me! ;o)
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.
By the River I was sitting
By the River I was sitting
Watching barges floating by
Like the clouds so full of promise
In the blue and burning sky
Bearing jewels, bearing silver
From the mountains crowned with snow
Bearing spices, sweet and fiery
From the jungles down below
By the River I was waiting
For a boat to pick me up
Till the oars were folded inward
And the city-gates were shut
On my roof-top I was watching
Night like lapis-lazuli
While the stars were slowly rolling
Round the tiny lonely me
By Two Rivers I was dwelling
In a house of golden bricks
In my dress of snow and silver
Waving to intrepid ships
When the stars had come full circle
Strangers broke my city-gate
And my boat lay by the palm-trees
Finest date-wine was its freight
And it flew against the current
And it floated with the storm
Till I climbed the purple mountains
Where the River Twins are born
Christina Egan © 2011
This song of the woman by the river is taken
from my stage play The Bricks of Ur (© 2011).
Place: City of Ur, Mesopotamia — Time: 2000 B.C.
Photograph: Assyrian jar (9th to 7th c. BC).
© The Trustees of the British Museum.
Christina Egan 