Author: irlandesuk

Schevchenko – Do not envy

irlandesuk art, poetry, translation ,

Schevchenko - a peasant family
         The peasant family, Taras Schevchenko (1843)

Do not envy the rich man,
He knows nothing ever
Of friendship nor of love—
For those he must pay.
Do not envy the powerful,
They are obliged to bully ;
Do not envy the famous
For they know well enough
It’s not they who are loved
But their bitter fame
Which in order to please gushes
From the blood and tears of bitter pain.
And to the young they meet,
All is quiet and blissful
As in paradise—but see :
Something is really wrong.

Therefore, envy, no one ;
Look around—and you will never
Find paradise on this earth,
Nor, indeed, in heaven above.

Taras Schevchenko

(version by John Lyons)

Taras Schevchenko, (1814-1861) is Ukraine’s national poet and the personification of the Ukrainians’ thirst for liberty and independence. Schevchenko was born into serfdom, but in 1838, a group of artist friends purchased his freedom with the proceeds from a sale of their paintings. Schevchenko was an accomplished painter of landscapes and historical canvases

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Dance of light

irlandesuk art, poetry

40 x 40_Dance of light
      Dance of light, John Lyons (40 x 40 cm, oil on canvas)

She who dances
dances in the light
light dance against
the deep blue
in waves of light
a bold silhouette
against a barren
blue sky

In endless time
she dances
across the canvas
and fills the space
of my heart
her supple slender
arms moving
to the rhythm
of love

John Lyons

 

When crows fly

irlandesuk poetry

When you see
a flock of crows
fly past

you know
that they know
something you
don’t know

the natural world
holds so many secrets
and everything dances
to a different tune

the fact that most trees
outlive us should
tell us something
about priorities

but only love
can outlast a life
true love that is
there is no other

Mirage

irlandesuk art, poetry

mirage
         Mirage, John Lyons (70 x 50 cm, oil on canvas)

How to reconcile
the syllables of silence
with empty vessels

In my mind
I crossed a Sahara
endless dunes

endless silence
I a passenger
in the wilderness

parched by day
by night shivering
under the stars

love the oasis
of milk and honey
on the eager tongue

at daybreak
the heart calculates
the distance

the horizon
the never-ending
thread

John Lyons

Revised

Vasyl Stus – The world was hiding

irlandesuk poetry, translation ,

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stus

I knew: the world was hiding from me,
behind all things another thing hides
and snaps at my heels. All the while
it refuses to show me its true face,
because the trust and friendship between
man and the world have now been lost.
Not for no reason do the smallest birds
recoil from me, or fish scatter
the moment they recognise a human shape,
or with their fragile beauty do flowers wish
to save themselves from me (the final
shred of hope that human beings
are not entirely beyond redemption). After all,
I thought, the harmony of worlds
has not bypassed humanity, instead
a certain distance has been established:
you belong to the world only thus far.

Vasyl Stus

Version by John Lyons

Vasyl Stus (1938-1985), was a Ukrainian poet, translator, literary critic, journalist, and an active member of the Ukrainian dissident movement. For his political convictions, his works were banned by the Soviet regime and he spent 13 years in detention, until his death in a Soviet forced labor camp for political prisoners.

AROUND THE WORLD, EVERY CULTURAL VENUE AND SPACE CLOSING IT DOORS TO RUSSIAN PERFORMANCES SHOULD OFFER THEM TO UKRAINIAN CULTURE

The sea sorts shells. . .

irlandesuk poetry

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The sea sorts shells
        on the seashore
while white plumes
        form in the foam
and tonight
        a scattering of stars
will shine down on us
        and we will continue
on the tick tock of our sad
        misadventures

Nobody knows
        where the words
are heading
        but in these times
of war our hearts
        beat for peace
for human nature
        to regain
the upper hand
        for love to rule
in the house
        of verbs

John Lyons

For I have loved her. . .

irlandesuk poetry

Works_(1895)_(14576782198)

Come comrades,
leave me here a while
and when you want me
sound upon the bugle-horn

All around the curlews call
flying over Locksley Hall
In the distance sandy tracts
and hollow ocean-ridges
roaring into cataracts

Many a night
did I look on great Orion
sloping slowly to the West

Many a night the Pleiads
rising through the mellow shade
did glitter like a swarm of fire-flies
tangled in a silver braid

Here about the beach I wandered
while the fruitful land reposed
and dipped into the future
as far as human eye could see

Her cheek once pale and thin
now rosy red and flushing
in the northern night
her spirit deeply dawning
in the dark of hazel eyes
her body shaken with a sudden
storm of sighs—

Feelings feelings fearing
they should do me wrong
for I have loved her
o so long

John Lyons

(Based on phrases from Tennyson’s poem, “Locksley Hall”.)

In these times of war

irlandesuk poetry

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In these times of war
        how precious is silence
language is overrated
        words words words
when what we want
        is human warmth
a gentle touch
        a relaxed smile
for time to flow
        uninterrupted by
extraneous sound

In these times of war
        it’s love that will
pull us through
        and the courage
that love brings
        to our hearts and
to our resolve
        for birds to return
to the city centre
        for palpable peace
to reign
        in the silence

John Lyons

Spain – Take this chalice from me

irlandesuk poetry, translation ,

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.