This blog is primarily dedicated to the writing and the translation of poetry, although during the so-called ‘silly season’ of the summer, I have strayed and wished to experiment with other types of writing, not excluding some stretches of straightforward nonsense which I have categorised as drivel. Some of this drivel, the story of Jonah and Anna-Belle, for example, has served its purpose as a sort of catharsis.

Furthermore, (and perhaps there is no need to state the obvious) I am no art critic, and it may have seemed a little presumptuous on my part to offer my views on a handful of paintings. Nevertheless, I have dared to write about those paintings that did catch my eye during visits to London galleries, in the knowledge that although I might be completely misguided in my interpretations, at least I have expressed my belief in the fundamental value of art. It has been a valuable exercise for me at least.

Writing is central to my life, and it is the activity most capable of lifting my spirits if I ever feel dejected. The moment I begin to write, the world around me disappears and I remain totally focused on the lines in front of me. That does not mean to say that whatever I write is necessarily of any value to anyone other than myself. The lines below were written this evening.  

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This road

This road takes me back
            into myself
back into my country
          into my intimate landscape
along paths where wheat and barley grew
          where oak was planted
where elm and chestnut
          offered me shade
and where love was once possible

This road takes me
          past a home I once occupied
beside ditches and warrens
          and streams that meandered
carelessly into the future
          a home where I was content
and where one road
          led naturally to another
to where a friend once lived
          or to where I first kissed a girl
her body pressed tightly
          against mine
so that I felt the purity
          of the energy
that coursed through her veins
          that made her skin glow
and I savoured the tenderness of her lips
          as I looked into her eyes
on a day that I wished
          would never end

In a sense it never did

This road took me to Paris
          to Madrid and later
to destinies far beyond
          to climates I never imagined
and to challenges I never knew
          that I would face
But this road remained
          always a path
that led back
          to the home I loved
and to those I loved
          with all my heart

John Lyons