Silver Vein
The curves of your step and your hand
leave a feathery trail in the air,
leave a flickering trace in my heart.
It’s a script you can’t see,
it’s a script I can’t read,
it’s a glittering vein on the earth.
That you weigh your weight,
that your flesh fills space,
that you radiate warmth
is a wonder to me,
a wealth of amazement,
a maze of desire.
Christina Egan © 2006
Alles drängt vorwärts
*
Fahrzeug um Fahrzeug,
bunte Menschen, Hunderte,
alles drängt vorwärts.
Durch das Adernetz der Stadt
rollt das Leben, das Sterben.
*
Kein einziger Stern,
bloß Wolken, Nebel und Staub
über den Dächern.
Doch Funken stieben, golden
und rot, über die Kreuzung.
*
Christina Egan © 2015/ © 2017
These tanka were written in Bloomsbury, London,
one in summer and one in winter, one bright light
and one in dim light; but the seasons and hours
make less difference in London than elsewhere…
For similar poems in English, go to Ripples of People.
Photograph: Deptford Broadway, London.
Michael Oakes © 2016
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
Christina Egan 