traurige ernte / Funkenschlag

traurige ernte

purpurn häufen sich die trauben
äpfel rollen dick und gelb
unter meinen müden augen
neben meinem armen feld

unerwidert bleibt mein lächeln
meine tränen ungezählt
unbedeutend rinnt mein leben
und ich sterbe unvermählt

Christina Egan © 2011


Funkenschlag

Ich habe spät beim Wein gesessen
und in die Nacht hinausgedacht:
Ich werde ohne Erben sterben;
was hat mein Leben ausgemacht?

Ich habe nicht umsonst gelitten,
ich habe nicht umsonst gelacht:
Der Funkenschlag geschliff’ner Worte
hat oft schon Flammensprung entfacht.

Christina Egan © 2009


The first person is dejected in the belief that his or her life has not been fruitful; they feel lonely and poor, not necessarily in material terms. The second person is convinced that he or she has not  lived and suffered in vain: they made a difference through their words.

That successful person could be a politician or a novelist, for instance; but it does not matter, because everyone has made a difference to the world and has been irreplaceable. Our heirs are those who inherit our lives, whether in  money, property, things or in achievements, inventions, ideas.

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Sunface

Sunface

Orange clouds on blue sky, mirrored in windows of terraced houses to the left, with silhouettes of large trees to the right.

I smile at the sunface
and soak up the rain
I gather a garland
and wait for the grain

I forage the forest
and furrow the earth
I gaze at the sunset
and wait for the bird

I follow the swallow
its call and its course
it cries and it circles
it sinks and it soars

Christina Egan © 2016

Photograph: Christina Egan © 2014.

This was the tree the bird sang from so sweetly… It has since been felled, so that my garden gets much more light and thrives; so the tree behind it, the bird’s new home! 

 

 

Early July (The vast transparent vessel)

Early July

I.

The vast transparent vessel of the sky
is filled at last with light up to the rim.
The twigs and leaves and petals wave and cry:
“The feast of heat and harvest can begin!”

II.

The days are still long, the sky is still light
and already strong the glorious heat,
the grass is still lush, the flowers still bright
and already ripe the sweet golden wheat!

Christina Egan © 2015


Those magical weeks just after summer
solstice are also captured in the German
poems Erster Juli / Eimerrand.

Harvest Moon

Harvest moon

A crystal ball suspended
above the park, black, blurred:
as if a god descended
onto this worn-out world.

The branches stretch their fingers,
the flowers crane their necks
towards the orb that shimmers
into the deepest cracks.

Tonight we see the largest
and brightest star that blooms:
this is the moon of harvest,
this is the moon of moons.

Christina Egan © 2015

Hält die Waage Nacht dem Tage

Hält die Waage Nacht dem Tage

Sieh, Morgen graut,
sieh, Morgen blaut!
Noch einmal leuchtet grün das Laub,
noch einmal schimmert gold das Haar,
und Mittag bäckt die Früchte gar.

Das Ziffernblatt
liegt sonnensatt,
der Schatten aber rückt hinab.
Der Wein saugt letzten Saft hinauf,
die Felder halten Ausverkauf.

Das Licht entsinkt,
das Jahr verklingt…
Noch einmal wird der Schritt beschwingt,
bevor uns Nebel stumm beschwert
und Sturm uns durch die Haare fährt.

Hält die Waage
Nacht dem Tage,
fällt die Blüte ohne Klage,
treibt der Feuerdorn die Beeren.
Was vergeht, wird wiederkehren.

Christina Egan © 2015