Year: 2022

Blue door

irlandesuk art, poetry , ,

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

irlandesuk art, poetry, translation ,

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)

Seeds turn to summer

irlandesuk poetry

calendula

Seeds turn
to summer
in silence

despite
the harsh winds
despite the hard
rains

seeds turn
to summer
in silence

green shoots
thrust up through
the damp soil
into the open air
to feed on the light

out of the damp dark earth
sweet pea and nasturtium
marigold and sunflower
calendula and forget-me-not
every colour under the sun

seeds turn
to summer
in silence

the germ of life
the germ of love
all that was buried
will flower again

John Lyons

Drawn to the light

irlandesuk poetry ,

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

irlandesuk poetry

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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

irlandesuk poetry ,

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

irlandesuk art, poetry , ,

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

Paul Éluard – Courage

irlandesuk poésie, poetry, translation ,

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.