Author: irlandesuk

The doors of perception

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Copy_k

                            Door, John Lyons (oil on canvas)

“If the doors of perception
were cleansed
every thing would appear to man
as it is, Infinite.

For man has closed himself up,
till he sees all things
thro’ narrow chinks
of his cavern.”

William Blake
from The Marriage of Heaven and Hell (1790-93)

The painting illustrating today’s text is a reading of Willem de Kooning’s A door to the sea, held at the Whitney Museum in New York. It is perfectly legitimate for one painter to base a painting on an existing work by another artist. Think of the plethora of nativity or crucifixion scenes in Renaissance art. In its own way, a door may represent a nativity or a crucifixion.

The silence of the sea

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new horizon
                     Silence of the sea, John Lyons (40 x 40 cm, oil on canvas)

Immense oceans
vast stretches of water
each with an individual
shape and personality
adjusted to shores
adjusted to depths
habitat and source
of sustenance
of life itself
where once
we emerged

vast waves of energy
issuing out of time
flooding the universe
with births and deaths
and rebirths in endless
cycles and expressions
from sunlight
and for no other purpose
than to mutate
into something bigger
or better or smaller
or more efficient
but a single process
at the heart of creation

the silent sea
that we observed
as it licked the shore
at Ramsgate
our birthplace
beckoning us

the silent sea
bathed in moonlight
gentle coruscations
as the wind picked
at its surface

relentless ebb and flow
a long slow pulse
the systolic and diastolic sea
the aqueous beating heart
into which we waded
at Hastings or that day
when we lay on the beach
at Copacabana
until a sudden sandstorm
drove us away

the silent sea
with its mysterious smile
posing more questions
than there are answers
and yet Turner obsessed
with its changing moods
its troubled temperament
although the day that
we lay on the sands of Margate
there was barely a ripple :
we ate cockles and mussels
succulent saline fruit
and the day was long
and under the warm sun
love seemed eternal

John Lyons

Love in Sète

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Sète

The undoing of distance
       poetry that unpicks time
that puts two and two together
       though in this case one

High on a hill
       overlooking the harbour
we celebrated Easter
       and after ate bouillabaisse
as the dusk gathered
       in alleys and street corners
and bathed the dust
       in darkness

Above us
       the cemetery sky
filled with inevitable stars
       and that night her kiss
sent a shiver down my spine
       life and death tasted
on the same tongue
       I remembered an owl
crying in the wind
       I remembered the rafters
where spiders prowled
       in the early hours
before dawn
       I remembered that age
was rendered meaningless
       in a universe of decrepit light
and that the pain of pleasure
       was the certainty of loss

What could I possibly
       have known of love
all those years ago
       and what could I possibly
tell you now
       and why should you care?

John Lyons

Love in the mix

irlandesuk art, poetry

dregs2

Such is the texture of life
       chiaroscoro on the palate
the rough with the smooth
       shapes drawn from nature
and chance the greatest
       of all artists – sole capable
of the happy accident
       a cascade of coloratura

and so we met and
       there was love in the mix
a relationship constructed
       out of coffee and much more
a sharing of bodies and of hours
       that built destinations
into our days and cut paths
       through the urban jungle

This disk of light and dark
       a flavour of the times
her cup never less
       than half full and all served
with a warm kiss – the taste
       indelible on my lips

John Lyons

Love’s conumdrum

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fortune

      Dregs, John Lyons

Beauty lurks
in all things
ready to beguile
to entrance
to win a heart
to provoke a sigh
beauty that
so truly lies
to the eye
of the beholder

Here my fortunes
in love or life
all too easy
to be read
in the coffee cup
to me remained
a mystery
to others
an open book

John Lyons

Helpless love

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grapevine
           Grapevine, John Lyons

What shall I do
with this absurdity
this universe in which
silence and stillness
simply do not exist

I think of whispered words
the tightened bow of her beauty
the ships on the shores of Troy
the blazing battlements
and a heart under siege

The rod and fly that I handled
so poorly as a boy when I fished
the streams around Thomastown
days long forgotten dearly remembered
What shall I do with this absurdity

the mule that I rode or the horse
or the donkey or a day at the fair
riding the carrousel with scarcely
a dream in my heart just an old tune
: or adrift in the water

under sail off the Brittany coast
under a fierce summer sun
and something stirred within me
and I held her soft face in my gaze
and fell forever into helpless love

John Lyons

Let nothing but love

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Let the day live, let the day be
       through you, let the day
gently dictate the course
       of your breath the course
of your fate of your shadow
       of your movements
your decisions, of your thoughts
       and your feelings, let the day be
through the minutes,
       through the hours
without worry, without fuss
       let the day live in all its splendour
in all its glory, let it be your life
       and be roses, be bees and butterflies
and magpies marauding
       and red foxes prowling
and squirrels squirreling
       and willows sighing
sweet memories tugging
       at the strings of your heart

let the north wind and the south wind
       and the east wind infuse your soul
with resolution, let the day live
       in every nook and every cranny
of your being, let nothing whatsoever
       darken your days, neither the sun nor
the moon nor the stars
       Let the day live, let the day be
and let nothing but love
       stand in your way

John Lyons

Hand of blood and bone

irlandesuk art, poetry

bone

                                  Bone moon


Hand of blood and bone
         picks roses primroses
things of perfection
         things of time

Simple passing
         back and forth
of banter
         of bonded bodies
that separate
         that slip
in and out
         of sleep

On moon nights
         the silence
of starlight
         at daybreak
doves cooing
        and later thrush
and sparrow
         and eventual
magpies robins
         crows

Last night
         the interminable
chatter of foxes
         shooting the breeze
survival a way of life
         for them

Effortless love
         that slips in and out
of silence
         words couched
in tireless
         gestures

Her lips closed
         she sleeps on
while he observes
         the coruscations
of time
         experience comes
at a price always
         worth paying

John Lyons