Night dance, John Lyons (70 x 50 cm, oil on canvas)
After hours
light fading
lone dancer
bounds across
the stage
Carnival masquerade
in a Venetian palace
Slow drift of time
through cloistered
canals : lovers cross
the Bridge of Sighs
Que será será
Que será será
John Lyons
Energy runs
downhill
that’s the law :
hot things cool
and engines
run out of steam
sooner and later
are part of
the narrative
my first letters
were shaped
using a stick
of chalk on slate
before I was
bumped
onto graphite
and paper
sooner and later
ARE
the narrative
behold the moth
behold the dust
left in the wake
of woodworm
One day
the entire sun
will be
cosmic dust
Where is Flora
the beautiful
Roman flower ?
Where Abelard
and Heloise ?
Dust
John Lyons
The dark side of coffee, John Lyons
It could after all
have been
blades of grass
rather than leaves
the cutting edge
of poetry
in a brave new world
Love is child’s play
innocent as the day
is long : and a poem
is so many words
immersed in silence
as Gertrude said
it’s a meeting place
where everything
is on the table
so bring your appetites
All I know is that
when I said
what I meant
I meant
what I said
You are no flower
you are no blossom
no alabaster neck
no peachy skin
you are the flesh
of my blood
the blood
of my flesh
my love incarnate
Look to the heavens
I have counted the stars
all present and correct
nothing dies forever
John Lyons
I dream of having you
day and night
in my arms
I breathe in
the lilac scent
of your soul
Guillaume Apollinaire
from Poèmes à Lou
(translation by John Lyons)
Je rêve de t’avoir
nuit et jour
dans mes bras
Je respire ton âme
à l’odeur
des lilas
Paris is cold Paris is hungry
Paris no longer eats chestnuts in the street
Paris has put on old women’s old clothes
Paris sleeps on its feet airless in the metro
Still more misfortune is imposed on the poor
And the wisdom and folly
Of unhappy Paris
It’s pure air, it’s fire
It’s the beauty it’s the kindness
Of its starving workers
Don’t cry for help Paris
You are living a life beyond compare
And behind the nakedness
Of your pallor of your thinness
All that is human is revealed in your eyes
Paris my beautiful city
Fine as a needle strong as a sword
Ingenious and learned
You can’t stand injustice
For you it’s a real mess
You will free yourself Paris
Paris shimmering like a star
Our surviving hope
You will free yourself from the fatigue and mud
Brothers have courage
We who are not helmeted
Nor booted nor gloved nor well-behaved
A ray lights up in our veins
Our light returns to us
The best of us died for us
And now their blood reaches our heart
And it’s morning again a Paris morning
The point of deliverance
The space of the dawning spring
Brute force has the weaker hand
These slaves our enemies
If they’ve understood
If they’re capable of understanding
Will rise up.
Paul Éluard
(translation by John Lyons)
This poem, written in 1942 while Paris was under German occupation, circulated widely among member of the French Resistance.
Courage
Paris a froid Paris a faim
Paris ne mange plus de marrons dans la rue
Paris a mis de vieux vêtements de vieille
Paris dort tout debout sans air dans le métro
Plus de malheur encore est imposé aux pauvres
Et la sagesse et la folie
De Paris malheureux
C’est l’air pur c’est le feu
C’est la beauté c’est la bonté
De ses travailleurs affamés
Ne crie pas au secours Paris
Tu es vivant d’une vie sans égale
Et derrière la nudité
De ta pâleur de ta maigreur
Tout ce qui est humain se révèle en tes yeux
Paris ma belle ville
Fine comme une aiguille forte comme une épée
Ingénue et savante
Tu ne supportes pas l’injustice
Pour toi c’est le seul désordre
Tu vas te libérer Paris
Paris tremblant comme une étoile
Notre espoir survivant
Tu vas te libérer de la fatigue et de la boue
Frères ayons du courage
Nous qui ne sommes pas casqués
Ni bottés ni gantés ni bien élevés
Un rayon s’allume en nos veines
Notre lumière nous revient
Les meilleurs d’entre nous sont morts pour nous
Et voici que leur sang retrouve notre coeur
Et c’est de nouveau le matin un matin de Paris
La pointe de la délivrance
L’espace du printemps naissant
La force idiote a le dessous
Ces esclaves nos ennemis
S’ils ont compris
S’ils sont capables de comprendre
Vont se lever.
All that excitement in the air
forget the grey clouds
the sharp frost overnight
all that excitement
is the sound of birds
clamouring for attention
spring is around the corner
smarten up those nests
gather fresh twigs and
any soft fibre you can find
to create a featherbed
no time to clutch at straws
time to get broody
to go forth and multiply
nature’s unswerving path
is the family way
John Lyons
Where are the snows
of my childhood
On this warm
February day
I ask ?
Where are the snows
that once covered
the hills of my childhood
the snows that tumbled
into the stream
and floated on
into the empty distance ?
I mistyped distance
and it became dustance
a new word to describe
old times
the old snows
for example
of my childhood
my neverlasting
childhood
the substance
of distance
in time
As a child
wherever I saw
a pendulum within the body
of a grandfather clock
I would halt the swing
so that time stood still
I gave it no thought then
it was instinctive
Age has taught me
if nothing else
that my childhood instincts
were right on target
time is the killer
and wherever possible
it should be stopped
in its tracks
John Lyons
The monumental
sadness of stone
immovable
unmoving
the hardness
of heart
in contrast
to the softness
the gentle warmth
the tenderness
the proactive will
of love
John Lyons
What she brought
to the table
was a fine salad
green leaves
with roasted
pine or walnuts
she brought
a smile too and
high cheekbones
she brought love
and laughter and
a warm kiss
and in her eyes
I caught a glimpse
of perfection
John Lyons
The sickle-shaped
crescent moon
cradles my thoughts
my feelings tonight
Light that brings
comfort in the darkness
the horns upon which
dreams are hung
I know that if
she once loved me
she will love me
always because
love casts no shadows
is never fickle
resolves all chaos
rebukes all dilemma
love creates bright
constellations that burn
with the fire
of human breath
my pulse beats
in time to ocean blood
my feet firmly fixed
on cosmic soil
John Lyons
johnjosephlyons 