Spain – Take this chalice from me

If Spain falls

Children,
sons of warriors, just for now,
hush your voices, since Spain’s energy at this very moment
is being parcelled out among the animal kingdom,
tiny flowers, comets and humankind.
Hush your voices, for she is
close to death, which is very grave, not knowing
where to turn, and there in her hand
the skull spouting words words words
the skull, the braided skull,
the skull, the skull of life!

Hush your voices, I beg you;
Hush your voices, the syllables of song, the weeping
of matter and the slightest murmur from the pyramids, and even
from those temples that walk with two stones!
Hush your breath, and if
your forearm droops,
if the vicious rulers ring out, if it is night,
if the heavens are squeezed between two terrestrial limbos,
if there’s noise in the sound of doors,
if I delay,
if you see no one, if you are afraid
of blunt pencils, if mother
Spain falls — you know, I’m just saying —
go out, children of the earth, go out and find her!


Above is a fragment from a poem by the great, antifascist Peruvian poet, César Vallejo (1892-1938), written during the Spanish Civil War (1936-39). The parallels with the violent Russian assault on Ukraine, which jeopardises the security of the whole of Europe, are all too clear. Translation by John Lyons.

Blue door

Blue door

      Blue door, John Lyons (40 x 40 cm, oil on canvas)

If I told you
If I told
If I told you
would you like it
would you ?

A play not on words
but a play in words
In space words
In time words

If I found them
my feelings
If I found them
and if I told you
If I told
would you like it
would you ?

Played out
in rooms
sitting
dining
bed and
bathroom

One door leads
to another
and another
and another
all our lives
windows and doors

One door
on either side
entrance and exit
coming and going
first to last

If I told you
If I told
If I told you
would you like it
would you ?

John Lyons

(revised)

Bolero – Julio Cortázar

workinprogress
    Green mountain, John Lyons (40 x 40 cm, oil on canvas)

What vanity to imagine
I can give you everything, love and happiness,
itineraries, music, toys.
It’s true this is how it is:
all I have, I give to you, it’s true,
but all I have is not enough for you
just as it’s not enough for you to give me
all you have.

So we’ll never be
the perfect couple, the picture postcard,
if we’re unable to accept
that only in arithmetic
does one plus one make two.
 
Scribbled on a scrap of paper
that merely says:
You were always my mirror,
What I mean is, I had to look at you to see myself.

And this fragment:

The slow machine of disaffection
the gears of reflux
bodies that abandon the pillows,
the sheets the kisses 

and standing before the mirror each one
self-questioning
no longer facing each other
no longer naked for each other
I no longer love you,
my love.

Julio Cortázar

(translation by John Lyons)

Drawn to the light

At night in the forest in Tikal
        when it rained, clouds of termites
took shelter in our huts : we had
        only candlelight and the insects
blinded by its heartless beauty swirled
        around the flaming wicks

Some of these frail creatures
        with their long thin paper wings
were instantly singed, and dropped
        helplessly onto the table
while others self-immolating
        were burnt almost to a cinder
as they smothered
        the murderous flame

and in the darkness
        in the silence, the dense
whirling cloud flew off
        leaving the charred remains
of their dead in the cold
        congealed wax

John Lyons

Spring offensive

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Seed and bulb
        sown on the lawns
of yesteryear
        to flower
in February to signal
        a tentative spring

frail crocuses
        whisps of colour
lilac and lavender
        purple and cream
here today and gone
        tomorrow

in a world
        of permanent change
where beauty
        is ever present
but never lasts :
        only lovers are
dressed for the
        counteroffensive

All hail!

John Lyons

Starshine

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

Blades of grass

dregs

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