The Big Bang

big bang
Big Bang, John Lyons (oil on plastic)

The Big Bang

In the beginning
           nothing : no colour
no light no movement
           no space just
boundless darkness
           though even then 
there was nowhere 
           for the darkness to be

There was no warmth
           no cold no life
no kiss no love
           nothing
just an aching emptiness
            infinitely empty
 even of emptiness
            even of heartache

And then there was light
            and with it came
art and the explosion of colour
            throughout the cosmos
irremediable darkness  
          banished forever
quite simply put to death
         by the act of creation   

John Lyons

The care of souls

The care of souls

In the midst of plenty
           the pain of poverty
scarcity and need
           a culture averse
to the care of souls
           blind to the beauty
of silence
           of poetry

The soul is in her eyes
           the bright gleam
in her lips and the words
           that tumble from them
in her hands and the magic
           that they work
how they soothe
           how they create
how they wave away
           my cares

the soul beneath
           her cotton dress
the fact not the fiction
           of her womanhood
the beingness of it
           as her limbs guide her
from place to place
           scattering love
as she comes and goes
           wherever

the soul is in her body
           that welcomes me
into her embrace
           that holds me and is
a place where I
           take comfort away
from the woes of
           the world

the soul is in her breath
           that I feel warm
against my cheek
           the rise and fall
of her breast
           that carries her
from day to night
           and back : the allness
that her soul
           embodies

John Lyons

 

Unsoiled in love

Unsoiled in love

Think of the perfectness
           of the rose unchallenged
never called into question
           a rose of no virtue
knowing nothing
           of the speed of life
with all its vexatious
           complexities

The beauty that drives the rose
           derives from the fecund
mineral soil
           and from the pedigree
of its earthly stars
           a tight knot of molecules
shaped from the simplicities
           of sunlight
the radiance of its petals
           lives on in the kiss
in man and woman sexed
           in the coalescence
of their flesh
           unsoiled in love

John Lyons

El mono

El mono 

Es casi humano,
                        casi,
            pero no tanto.
Cuando duerme parece un niño.
            Paco lo llaman:
Paco Paco.
(A veces se llaman Paco
                        a veces no,
a veces otra cosa).
            Dormido
seguro sueña con ser grande
                        como los grandes.
Pero de día
                        se lo pasa jugando
            como niño:
da vueltas y volteretas,
                        se agarra de un palo
                        y se columpia,
o sube en el árbol
                        y se cuelga
            bocabajo
de la cola
            o de las dos piernas,
                        que parecen
brazos.
            Mas lo que más le gusta
                        es saltar
de una bancada
                        a otra
            así no más,
sin criterio
            pero con una gran agilidad
que a uno le da envidia,
            de veras,
                        envidia:
vive en circo
            permanente.
Y cómo come
                        ¡dios mío cómo come!
            y no parece engordar:
es que parece mentira.
                        Será el
            ejercicio y todo,
supongo yo,
            los brincos
                        de un lado
            a otro,
¡qué maravilla!
                        Y se rasca,
            como un niño,
se pasa todo el día,
            rascándose,
                        o agarrándose
del ombligo
            o de otra cosa
            ¿qué sé yo?
                        sin pena,
o aparentemente sin pena
            aunque es penoso
cuando uno se le acerca,
            y tapa la cara
con las manos
                        o con la cola
            o con las dos
y no te mira
            para nada
                        sino de reojo
como si algo bien
                        vergonzoso
            sintiera,
aunque pronto se le pasa
            y en seguida está
otra vez
            brincando
                        de una bancada a otra
como si nada.
            Monterroso me dice
                        que en Guatemala
hay unos monos
            muy sabios
                        ¿qué sé yo?
Políticos,
            por lo menos
            ¿verdad?

John Lyons, Managua, 1992


Note: Paco was the name that Ernesto Cardenal gave to a monkey he once bought from a poor family, thinking perhaps to give it a better life. The monkey was kept in the back garden and his antics were an endless source of entertainment.


 

Two songs of silence

Two songs of silence

Listen how silence
Suddenly descends
For our love

Horizontally. . .

Believe only in love
    And in nothing else
Hush; listen to the silence
    That speaks to us
Most intimately; listen calmly
    My dear as love
Strips the petals of silence
    One by one. . .

Leave words to poetry. . .

Vinicius de Moraes, Oxford 1939


translation by John Lyons


 

Not for want of asking

Not for want of asking

Animate the still-life
           bring passion in
bring drive
           and determination
Through the threads
           of autumn and winter
sap will rise
           cherries will bloom again
trees will extend their branches
           to provide shade and comfort
through the summer months
           Admire the crisp new leaf-edge
that softens the bleak urban sprawl
           let the lines of poetry grow long
as they romp chapter and verse
           through the purple clover

Lend an ear to the vowels
           that bend in the breeze
and to those words
           that might save you :
you from yourself
           or your self from you

Learn from the wind that breathes
           life into us all
the air that burns in our lungs
           and think :
is there any other purpose
          than love ?

John Lyons

After the fall

After the fall

What poets have
           in common with
disgruntled lovers
           a desire
to give you
           a bit of their lip

true
           the eyes have it
quick to spot
           the nest
with the feathered
           bed

and that’s life
           ear in ear out
the heart beating
           on a conundrum

Out of Eden
           there ran a river
hubble bubble garden
           of toil and trouble
we are all
           fall guys and girls

John Lyons

On reading James Schuyler

On reading James Schuyler

There’s a lot to be learnt
from reading a poem
by James Schuyler
just as there is
from looking at
a blue shadow painting

The gift is
to look at the world
freshly and free of cliché

to look
with a good eye
and to listen
with a good ear

to devour life
with the senses
let it all flood in
and cherish
every experience

Nobody lives for ever
it’s a shame
but get over it
get on with it
and love it

John Lyons