The king’s a thing
so too the lover
and their love
an essence that acts
through its breath
The beauty in number
remote hearts
the come together
in one space
twixt
a wonder : let none
put asunder
John Lyons
Shakespeare’s pulse
is in the language
his poetry speaks
for itself
and he offers
no explanation
Simply put
it is what the words say
The culture is not
in the knowledge
but in the expression
He puts breath
into desire
and all those questions
that make us human
and so we wonder
and we want
but only love
brings reconciliation
and contentment
John Lyons
A love of firm purpose
a constancy and yet
an intimate intricate
perplexity
Life structured as a dance
for one who moves lightly
on her feet
whose gestures engage
with another
whose fingers count the hours
whose lips savour their secret
whose hips gently sway
in the partner’s presence
whose soul captures the flow
of a unifying universe
in which mountains rise and fall
with the seasons
whose words and deeds
are but rarefied variations
on a solid theme
She who is beauty to the eye
she whose satin soft skin
glows with life’s pleasure
rare creature born to love
John Lyons
It’s February
and there are crocuses
on the lawns
their gold and violet leaves
enjoying the balmy spring air
From bulbs that lie
below the surface
they suddenly appear
as if out of nowhere
but they are messengers
and they bring good cheer
the worst may not be over
but it’s good to be alive
and this just may be the year
when love comes your way
and comes to stay
John Lyons
Above the roof, the sky’s
So blue, so calm!
Above the roof, a tree
Waves its leaves.
The bell, in the sky we see,
Is softly ringing.
In the tree we see a bird
Singing its sad song.
My God, my God, life is there,
Simple and tranquil.
This peaceful sound
Comes from the town.
And you there, what have you done,
With your endless tears,
Tell me, you, what have you done,
With your younger years?
Paul-Marie Verlaine (1844 – 1896)
Translation by John Lyons
Le ciel est, par-dessus le toit,
Si bleu, si calme!
Un arbre, par-dessus le toit,
Berce sa palme.
La cloche, dans le ciel qu’on voit,
Doucement tinte.
Un oiseau sur l’arbre qu’on voit,
Chante sa plainte.
Mon Dieu, mon Dieu, la vie est là
Simple et tranquille.
Cette paisible rumeur-là
Vient de la ville.
– Qu’as-tu fait, ô toi que voilà
Pleurant sans cesse,
Dis, qu’as-tu fait, toi que voilà,
De ta jeunesse ?
A place of memories
of you and I
where we once were
of days gone by
when love was love
so easy on the lips
as hand in hand
we strolled
through our life
without a care
A terminus
where works of art
end their days
marooned for all time
in this huge hall under the eye
of the clock
A place in the memory
in the heart and soul
of tenderness and love
that never fades
that never ends
will never die
John Lyons
I read him for the granulations of time
for the immaculate imagery
with which he sketches our existence
the true interior life that sums us up
for the transparence of place he inhabits
and for the thoughtfulness of his voice
He is a master of landscapes
of rivers and mountains and plains
and trees and blackbirds with an acute eye
for anything that moves
in a field of snow
and in his observations he is always
central and necessary and just as the stars
he stands naked in the cosmos
How often do we note that the sea
breaks on the edges of his lines
that are composed
for oboe or hautboy
intuitive melodies to be performed
in the haunted forests of our cities
evoking all those unsettling truths
so deeply buried in our blood
John Lyons
As the year turns
and seasons slip
one into another
the still air lies lightly
above the land
nature on its marks
about to burst
into colour
and this our trade in love
the history of our blood
the lines that have brought us
to this convergence
to the ceremony
of our commingled flesh
each with an inexhaustible
appetite for life
our nails pared
our hair trimmed
the deep breath
as we embrace
Passion’s give and take
our lives no less mysterious
than those of the foxes
that live in the reality
of our imagination :
and in your body
I see the map of my heart
the endless path
that I must take
time and time again
John Lyons
Give me some music; music, moody food
Of us that trade in love.
Antony and Cleopatra
The soft winter light
falls at a certain angle
illuminating the tall buildings
along the Avenida Paulista
I pass
by the Parque Trianon
noticing every shade of green
every leaf sharp in the mind
I’m heading in the direction
of the Conjunto Nacional
to hunt for books
in the Livraria Cultura
I see parents of young families
proudly walking
with their kids and a feeling
of tranquility reigns on the streets
a sense of relief from tensions
of the working week
It’s a day to enjoy
and there’s no need
to scratch too deeply
below the surface
John Lyons
This is a translation of a poem originally written in Portuguese
A luz suave do inverno
caindo em um certo ângulo
iluminando os prédios altos
ao longo da Avenida Paulista
Eu passo
pelo Parque Trianon
observando cada tom de verde
cada folha afiada na mente
Estou indo na direção
do Conjunto Nacional
para procurar livros
na Livraria Cultura
Vejo pais de famílias jovens
orgulhosamente caminhando
com seus filhos e uma sensação
de tranqüilidade reina nas ruas
uma sensação de alívio das tensões
da semana e do trabalho
É um dia para desfrutar
e não há necessidade
de arranhar muito
abaixo da superfície
John Lyons
