Last night
a clear sky
frost beginning
to form
I raise my eyes
a vast canopy
of stars etched
out of the darkness
Brethren I mutter
under my breath
my warm breath
that hales
from the stars
John Lyons
Author: irlandesuk
A kind of Thanksgiving
We are into winter
and it’s early morning
and in the distance
there is sunlight
on the trees reflected
in the leaves that remain
of copper and gold parchment
soon to fall
I wonder about photosynthesis
in the winter months
and what sense the trees
make of their seasonal loss
This morning too
I observed a cat sitting
on a ledge beside a light-
coloured wooden fence –
the cat was adjusting its posture
by studying the clear silhouette
of its shadow on the smooth slats
posing for my photo shoot
It’s the integrity
of the natural world
that I love – how one thing
feeds inevitably into the other
the joined–up writing
that underlies the script
behind the universe in which
love is the fundamental law
John Lyons
The restless heart
Let’s face it
the universe is about travel
matter and energy
that simply cannot
stay still under
any circumstances
Stillness is an illusion –
all things are in constant motion
the atomic and subatomic structure
of stone proves this
as though proof were needed
Nuclear fission is based
on these principles
and the power it generates
in some modest way mimics
the Big Bang of our origin
And so the nuclear sparrow
perches on the garden fence
and through its open throat
one of the many songs
of the universe
emerges to reassure us
to help us cope with the silence
and dark nights of the soul
and thus our thoughts turn
constantly to love
and to all the affairs
of the restless heart
John Lyons
What they don’t know – Juan Gelman
The great Argentine poet, Juan Gelman (d. 2014) was born in Buenos Aires on May 3, 1930. On August 26, 1976, his children, Nora Eva, 19 years old, and Marcelo Ariel, 20, were kidnapped by the security forces, along with their daughter-in-law María Claudia Iruretagoyena, 19 years old, who was seven months pregnant. On January 7, 1990, the Argentine Forensic Anthropology Team identified the remains of his son Marcelo, found in a river in San Fernando (Greater Buenos Aires), inside an oil drum filled with sand and cement. The poem translated below describe the plight of individuals on the run during Argentina’s so-called Dirty War (1976-1983).
«Ignorances»
dark/luminous times/the sun
shrouds in sunshine the city rent
by sudden sirens/the police on the hunt/night falls and we
we will make love under this roof/the eighth
in a month/they know almost everything about us/except for
this plaster ceiling under which
we will make love/and neither do they know
the old pine furniture under the previous ceiling/nor
the window that the night pounded while it shone like the sun/nor
the beds or the floor where
we made love this month/surrounded by faces like the sun that
shrouds the city in sunshine
Juan Gelman, from Hechos (1974-1978)
Translated by John Lyons
«Ignorancias»
tiempos oscuros/luminosos/el sol
cubre de sol la ciudad partida
por súbitas sirenas/la policía busca/cae la noche y nosotros
haremos el amor bajo este techo/el octavo
en un mes/conocen casi todo de nosotros/menos
este techo de yeso bajo el cual
haremos el amor/y tampoco conocen
los viejos muebles de pino bajo el techo anterior/ni
la ventana que la noche golpeaba mientras brillaba como el sol/ni
las camas o el suelo donde
hicimos el amor este mes/rodeados de rostros como el sol que
cubre de sol la ciudad
Recipe for a poem
Today I will go into the woods
and gather sweet chestnuts
just as I did when I was a boy
on my way home from school
At home I’ll place the chestnuts
in boiling water
and when they’re done
I’ll peel off the tough shells
and allow the fruit to cool
meanwhile I’ll gently warm
some dark chocolate to which
I’ll add little cream : inserting
a toothpick into each chestnut
I’ll dip them in the chocolate
and once fully coated I’ll place them
on a baking sheet to cool
When later I eat them I know that
the taste will be of childhood
John Lyons
A feast of locusts
A feast of locusts
and wild honey
or fish freshly
pulled from the lake
nothing is lost
nothing ever fails
words that outlive
the memory
the speech of truth
the intelligence
of love the breath
of freedom
the scent of lilacs
fills the transparent air
a table is laid
for guests
a beam of sunlight
through the curtains
the slow descent of dust
fine particles of time
a woman with a cloud
on her shoulder sits
under an old oak
in which blackbirds perch
life is the colour of love
wherever the sun rises
a bravura of the heart
an unending kiss
John Lyons
We are of the sun
Let’s be clear
we are of the sun
and our essence
is to shine
we of the bare day
and of the bare night
are of the sun
in our actions
and when we rest
when we speak or
when we are silent
just as angels
so it is said
are modulations
of stars that have
descended to earth
I in her beauty
saw sunlight
and truth and love
her golden coinage
John Lyons
Love’s betrayal
Landscape, John Lyons (paper collage)
How light moves
among the branches
in late November
when the leaves
have fallen
and how silently
the squirrels move
now that there’s
no foliage to brush
against their tails
for a few months
the treeline fades
into the horizon
and the eye adjusts
to the effects of winter
at night the black sky
fills with stars or
with an icy moon
that shivers
in the cold universe
and so we sleep on
and dream of passion
and long for the rebirth
of daffodils and roses and
an end to love’s betrayal
John Lyons
For the birds
The birds that build
their homes in trees
raise a family
in the balmy days
I wonder how they feel
in autumn when all the leaves
fall leaving nothing but
the bare branches
how exposed and forlorn
in the wind and the rain
homeless and rootless
until spring comes again
John Lyons
At moondusk
Yellowing leaves
against a pale blue sky
a gentle easterly wind
barely enough to chill
the simplicity of sunshine
illuminating all things
Last night at moondusk
I thought of you
your thin auburn hair
your pale skin
your dream-weary eyes
your ungainly beauty
Just now a sparrow sprang
from within a thicket
irrepressible life
each moment lived
as though it were the first
and the last
rough odes hewn
from seamless words
the formalities of the sonnet
and blood that longs
to create so as to proclaim
that through the turbulence
through all the trials
and tribulations nothing
fades from this universe
love least of all
John Lyons
johnjosephlyons 