Behind every mask
there is a portrait
behind every portrait
there is a mask
sometimes the light
blinds us to the darkness
sometimes the darkness
reveals the light
Rembrandt knew this
Rothko felt this
we can see this
in Vienna’s great
museum
if we want
John Lyons
Pockets of time
caught in art
trapped under pigment
line and colour
from a different age :
after the cave came canvas
but it’s the same process
time dedicated
to capturing time
a succession of moments
or of perceptions
or of intuitions
or simply of actions
but all shaped
thoughts feelings
observations
and there’s
a single narrative
running through it all
this is what it is
to be human
to be alive
or at least
an aspect of it
John Lyons
Nerve bone
flesh blood
all from
sunlight
a universe
that suddenly
comes alive
the building blocks
hydrogen and carbon
and the question is
what ignites it all ?
fission and reproduction
the energy devoted
to constant reinvention
quantum life
in which the mind
makes all the difference
timeless waves of love
John Lyons
In 1936 Samuel Beckett was a contributing translator to Thorns of Thunder, a brief selection of the poems of Paul Eluard.
Later that year Beckett wrote to his friend and fellow translator, Tom McGreevy:
“My copy of Eluard came, duly signed by author & all available translators. He does come through after a fashion, the frailty & nervousness. But no attempt seems to have been made to translate the pauses. Like Beethoven played strictly to time.”
The hand of blood and bone
picks roses of dear perfection
things of time
that pass simply away
The back and forth
of banter on all
lovers’ lips
bonded bodies
that slip effortlessly
into sleep
Sometimes I speak
for the sake of speaking
and then listen
to how silence closes in
around my words
Silence
John Lyons
Anemone and columbine
Have grown in the garden
Where sadness sleeps
Between love and disdain
Here our shadows come too
That the night will dissipate
The sun that deepens them
With them will disappear
The deities of breathing waters
Let their hair run free
Go on you should pursue
That beautiful shadow you desire
Guillaume Apollinaire (from Alcools)
Translation by John Lyons
* * *
French original
L’anémone et l’ancolie
Ont poussé dans le jardin
Où dort la mélancolie
Entre l’amour et le dédain
Il y vient aussi nos ombres
Que la nuit dissipera
Le soleil qui les rend sombres
Avec elles disparaîtra
Les déités des eaux vives
Laissent couler leurs cheveux
Passe il faut que tu poursuives
Cette belle ombre que tu veux
The darkness is ours
in which I hand to you
you hand me back
all the love
water spreads
through the earth
reaches into
the root of being
in the darkness
as mirrors rest
your secret voice
is revealed
through the blinds
a moon laced with cloud
on white linen
the thorns are removed
one by one
there is no blood
to stain
no tears to dry
your mouth
is an abyss
into which
I willingly fall
and sleep comes
gently
John Lyons
I can’t do a thing, I can’t see a thing.
When you’re old, you shouldn’t go out
You should stay indoors by the fire,
With warm clothes and the day tempered
Each evening by the night and the lamplight.
When you’re old, you shouldn’t read anymore.
Words are bad and meant for other lives.
You should stay in, your eyes glazed, resigned
Motionless, in a corner.
When you’re old, you shouldn’t talk anymore
You mustn’t sleep anymore. . . You must remember
That others are constantly thinking:
“When you’ve seen it all, you’re miserable
And when you’re old, you’ve seen it all!”
Paul Eluard (1895-1952)
Translation by John Lyons
French text :
Je ne peux rien faire, je ne peux rien voir.
Quand on est vieux, il ne faut plus sortir
Il faut rester dans la chambre avec le feu,
Avec de chauds vêtements et le jour adouci
Chaque soir par la nuit et la clarté des lampes.
Quand on est vieux, il ne faut plus lire.
Les mots sont mauvais et pour d’autres vies.
Il faut rester, les yeux perdus, l’air résigné
Dans un coin, sans bouger.
Quand on est vieux, il ne faut plus parler
Il ne faut plus dormir. . . Il faut se souvenir
Que les autres pensent sans cesse:
« Quand on a tout vu, on est misérable
Et quand on est vieux c’est qu’on a tout vu! »
Paul Eluard (from Le devoir et l’inquiétude, 1916-1917)
How soon the petals fall
how soon dawn turns to dusk
how soon this life is over
and all things turn to dust
and memories are piecemeal
and time consumes them all
till love is all that’s left us
that love in which we trust
John Lyons
For those who care
and care enough
so as never to pay
lip service to love
to care from the heart
poetry from the heart
not ideas but things
as real as a red rose
things filtered
through feelings
the heart tells us
there’s nothing
like love
John Lyons
