The mineral voice of the earth
the breeze that moves
through the fresh
green leaves of summer
leaves that sustain
the patter of rainfall
and are soon dry
once the sun appears
And how her mood changed
how her body grew lighter :
the step of a dancer
as she made her way
through the warmer days
clear days with no memory
other than the pattern of love
drawn across shared hours
John Lyons
Not least because the sun shone
the air clear of memories
did I find myself the compass
of my day
Small birds sung their morning hymns
and I listened to their world in awe
and pondered the great mystery
of why such accidental beauty
was granted to us on all sides
This being the world in which I walked
and heard and saw and felt for myself
the western day into which I descend
each morning from my dreams of a love
brighter than any star above
John Lyons
A clear day and no memories
a young summer’s day
expected to fulfil all the rituals
of the season : a magpie
proclaiming its matey boasts
from the summit of a garden conifer
In the live living air
knowledge of this day
is there to create
since none of us
has ever been here before
nor will ever return
But the poet throws down
a trusty gauntlet : how
might we transform the shallow
spectacle of our lives
and endow our activities
with lustrous meaning
John Lyons
When I was born a slim angel,
the type that blows trumpets, announced:
she’ll carry the flag.
Very heavy load for a woman,
even today a downtrodden species.
I welcome the tricks that suit me,
without having to lie.
Not so ugly I can’t marry,
I think Rio de Janeiro’s beautiful and
do and don’t believe in painless childbirth.
But, what I feel I write. I’m true to my stars.
I inaugurate bloodlines, found realms
—pain is not bitterness.
My sadness has no pedigree,
but my longing for joy,
its roots go back a thousand years.
To limp through life is man’s fate.
Women are flexible. I am.
Adélia Prado
(translation by John Lyons)
Brazil’s greatest living poet, Adélia Prado was born in 1935 and lives in Divinópolis, Minas Gerais.
Com licença poética
Quando nasci um anjo esbelto,
desses que tocam trombeta, anunciou:
vai carregar bandeira.
Cargo muito pesado pra mulher,
esta espécie ainda envergonhada.
Aceito os subterfúgios que me cabem,
sem precisar mentir.
Não tão feia que não possa casar,
acho o Rio de Janeiro uma beleza e
ora sim, ora não, creio em parto sem dor.
Mas, o que sinto escrevo. Cumpro a sina.
Inauguro linhagens, fundo reinos
—dor não é amargura.
Minha tristeza não tem pedigree,
já a minha vontade de alegria,
sua raiz vai ao meu mil avô.
Vai ser coxo na vida, é maldição pra homem.
Mulher é desdobrável. Eu sou.
A clear day
and no memories
sun glistening
on the water’s surface
of Spirit Quay where a grey wagtail
is hopping from one
lily pad to another—
a yellow-bellied male
with a black throat and
whitish moustachial stripes
Barges moored by the riverside
are flying the Ukrainian flag
and people are sunning themselves
in the Hermitage memorial garden
: the tide is out and time
is taking a break
John Lyons
A clear day
and no memories
the treeline in the distance
dappled with sunshine
Today I will walk and ride
and sit and dream
by the riverside
where our life flowed
so sweetly
All those years
that meant so much
the many bridges
we crossed
the many sunsets
we shared
the laughter
and the love
the many petals
of fallen roses
John Lyons
I cannot speak your thoughts
no more than I can read
the mind of the stars
That fear possessed you
I know this :
that your courage failed
at the point of decision
and so you withdrew
I know that in that moment
whole cities faded out of sight
and certain ardent words were lost
as you hid your heart from me
We are of the world but
we cannot fix it unless
we’re prepared to defend
love’s innocence and carry
our convictions to the grave
and never betray our kiss
John Lyons
Under the full moon
down by the Thames
I said to her— Be the voice
of my night
of my day
of my love
Let us share the sunrise
the silent hour at dusk
and together
let us scan the sky
for shooting stars
Let us travel
down to the shore
to hear the sea-sound
to be lulled by
its timeless serenade
John Lyons
This is how the wind shifts
from one moment to another
the result of the tussle
between high and low pressure
and as the wind shifts
so too the day and all
the illusions and disillusions
it brings as part of its baggage
and our thoughts go spinning
and our feelings reeling
as warm and cold fronts clash
under the barometric weight
human eagerness driven by
clear blue skies can so easily
collapse into lethargy and
irrational gloom :
it takes a spark to ignite
our passions and set the stage
for love and romance to unfold
and fill our lives with joy
The silence of things
that have no voice
no means of expression
above and beyond
their physical shape
and characteristics
things so often
in the backdrop
that we barely notice
stones in the road
that only occasionally
cause us to trip
And yet they are
presence and context
where what we talk of
takes place or unfolds
Our fascination
with the moon
and the stars and the sea
with lakes and rivers
all of which are in
perpetual motion
and have deep purpose
and speak volumes to us
on their own terms
in their own language
devoid of syllables
but full of sense
And we speculate constantly
about never-ending things
the chain of life and death
systolic and diastolic and all
that happens in between
Love should be among
those never-ending things
and sometimes it is
but all too often
there comes a sharp speech
a withering conversation
and the voices dry up
and love no longer is
John Lyons
johnjosephlyons 