The day is like a daffodil. Yet
the green garland of the garden,
the golden garland of the sunset
cannot dispel the dark of the depth.
On the crests of the hills,
tiny blue brushstrokes,
you can watch them wander,
the deceased and the unborn.
My heart is a fist in my chest.
My tears are grapes of glass.
No one sees them: no one sees me.
I am alone with the angels.
Christina Egan © 2017
Photograph: Christina Egan © 2013.
Im Meerblau des Abends,
im Windschutz der Burg
ersteigen die steilen
zwei Schatten und flüstern
und lachen und schweigen.
mit zahllosen Perlen,
die Büsche im Regen;
aus purpurnem Glas,
die berstenden Blüten.
Landschaft von Türmen,
spiegelnde Schluchten –
Bilder in Winkeln
des unruhigen Herzens,
Erinnerung an Träume,
an Heimat der Zukunft.
Reigen von Brücken,
behütet von Engeln,
von Helden der Vorzeit.
Stadt ohne Alter.
Christina Egan © 2004
My impression may work quite well in a translation software.
If you have the opportunity to visit one city only in Europe north of the Alps, let it be Prague. It is Central Europe in a nutshell. And it is enchanted…
The Czech Republic is a lovely little country anyway, with countless hills and lakes, mediaeval castles and market squares — absurdly romantic!
By the way, two other excellent destinations in Europe, other than Mediterranean, are Tallinn (Estonia) and Bruges (Belgium).
The afternoon is royal blue,
with tiny lights festooned,
I rush, I’m flushed, I look for you —
we never meet too soon!
The windows decked with evergreen,
with tinsel and with gold —
and there, my angel, genuine,
a candle in the cold!
Christina Egan © 2015
Photograph by Gabriel Pollard [CC BY-SA 2.5].
Featured picture on Wikimedia Commons.
psalm für dich
ein schwebender lebender planet
ist dein auge
ein schimmernder sternennebel
manche menschen drehen sich nach dir um
und auch manche engel
Gott hat dich erfunden
um sich zu erfreuen
Christina Egan © 2012
This poem has just been published in the Münsterschwarzacher Bildkalender 2017.
The person described may be someone the speaker is in love with or someone else, like a young child. Ultimately, it could be each one of us. I imagine that God feels as passionately about each human being as we feel only about very few others… and of course, still never as passionately.
I want to rest my stormy eyes
in yours to find a moment’s calm;
I want to rest my wounded hands
in yours to find their strongest balm.
I need to lay my heart by yours,
which cast this fast and forceful charm,
I need to hear your heart tune in
to sing a brief and burning psalm.
Christina Egan © 2003
Rosen wie Splitter
Rosen wie Splitter
von Mittagsglut, Mondnacht
Warm und schwer von Düften
schwappt die Luft durch den Park,
lacht lautlos der Teich.
tausend Trompeten, hörbar
nur für die Engel.
Christina Egan © 2001
Photograph: Christina Egan © 2014
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.
The only offspring left calls from the eaves.
Some houses have a hundred hollow wounds,
and hamlets of a dozen centuries
surrender to contending winds their rooms.
The olive-trees stretch out their silver leaves
like angels’ feathers in a cry for peace.
Where is the comfort for a bird that grieves,
the peace for ashen land? Is it beneath?
It is beneath the nettles and the shards,
beneath the venom seeped into the field;
it is above the silver heaps of stars,
a seed of unimaginable yield.
Christina Egan © 2016
Photograph: ‘Olivenbäume in Umbrien’ by Adrian Michael.
I found this marvellous illustration on Wikimedia Commons long after I wrote the poem. I had not even thought of the silver bark and leaves resembling ashes…
In the past few years, millions of Syrians have lost their homes and possessions, or their jobs or studies, or their health or their limbs, or their loved ones or their own lives. The national liberation movement has turned into an apparently bottomless civil war, a literally insane religious war, and a vicarious war of outside powers. This conflict will change the face of the Near East and the face of Europe. Meanwhile, the suffering continues.
Let us pray for peace in Syria. All together.