art

Paul Éluard – Clouds in my hands

irlandesuk art, poésie, poetry ,

Man Ray

This confused despair
Impalpable source rainy night
Far from burgeoning leaves
Far from salubrious tears
This disdain of the Orient
This livid paradise
This backtracking
Exhausted unbeliever
Towards a handful of memories

The miracle cure accords gift trust.

From Les mains libres (1937), drawings by Man Ray

Des nuages dans les mains
Ce désespoir confus
Source impalpable nuit de pluie
Loin des feuilles naissantes
Loin des larmes salubres
Ce dédain de l’orient
Ce paradis livide
Cette marche en arrière
Incrédule exténuée
Vers quelques souvenirs

Le remède miracle accord cadeau confiance.

Times unsung

irlandesuk art, poetry

buff titanium
         Buff titanium, John Lyons (40 x 40 cm, oil on canvas)

Time is distance
and distance is also
unused time

How wasteful of us
to be apart
our hands
our arms
our lips pointless
in this drought
of love

Dreams that have gone
their separate ways
rose petals that unfold
in a wilderness of dust

It was invention
that kept us together
a shared language
of gestures

This coldness
is a failure
of the imagination
this silence
the kiss of death

John Lyons

The business of love

irlandesuk art, poetry ,

table
                         Table, John Lyons (70 x 50 cm, acrylic on paper)

A steadfast table
Icelandic blue
on an arctic white
chequered cloth
that cannot contain
every object
the shoes and plates
and tickets to ride

A table
a tenderness
a place in time
an invitation to all
who are absent
a necessary space
where laughter
and silence may
congregate

A table where chance
would be a fine thing
and intimate moments
may be played out
or where a hat may be left
or a bunch of keys
and a dog may bark
off camera

A table fit
for the business of life
or the business of love
or to address the appetite
or to say grace
before a meal
or to lay or to clear
or to be in between
or to bear the weight
of a cool red rose
in a cut glass bowl

John Lyons

Condensed lines

irlandesuk art, poetry

bottles
                Sketch (60 x 40 cm, acrylic on paper)

Oak and ash and sycamore
bear testimony to life’s purpose
a truth in themselves
affording peace and harmony

wherever they stand –
their breath our breath
their shadow our refuge
In fierce winds unflinching

a life of beauty and service
they dwarf all human ambition –
fearless in the face of time
indifferent to the clamber of birds

Steadfast – to all comers
they are generous to a fault

John Lyons

Earlier draft below

Oak and ash and sycamore
       bear testimony to life’s purpose
they are a truth in themselves
       wherever they stand
there is peace and harmony
       their breath is our breath
their shadow our refuge
       in fierce winds

they do not flinch
       theirs is a life of beauty
and service and observe
       how they dwarf
every human ambition
       how fearlessly they endure
in the face of time
       indifferent to the clamber
of birds among their branches
       to all comers generous to a fault

Flat earth

irlandesuk art, poetry

Flat earth

             Flat earth, John Lyons (30 x 25 cm, oil on canvas)

A topography
of the flat mineral earth

of fields and pastures
fertile in the imagination

a surface upon which
colours have been laid

and certain symmetries
marked out which please

the mathematical eye
the circle of life

from root to rust
finally squared

John Lyons

Ode to autumn

irlandesuk art, poetry , ,

orange flowers

            Orange flowers, John Lyons (oil on wood)

Finally the fallen leaves
       are turning from copper
to pure gold
       This is the currency
that poets eagerly mine
       each autumn
It’s a subject that appeals
       to their inner Keats
the mellow sadness
       of a year on the way out

Self-deprecating
       Richardson’s Pamela
called herself
       a piece of painted dirt
and so it is
       the cycle in and out
of the earth
       the human comedy
one door closes
       another door opens
and while there is breath
       there is hope
and where there is life
       there is love

Whose hands are those
       painted on the cave walls
men women children
       the whole community ?
The caves are time capsules –
       behind the art is the perception
that creation goes the distance
       and that the thread of life
is eternal and breath alone powers
       the thread of love

John Lyons

Mike Goldberg’s sardines

irlandesuk art, poetry ,

sardines
                    Sardines, by Michael Goldberg

So I like to keep
tinned sardines
in my cupboard
for a rainy day
and whenever
I think of them
I think of Frank
O’Hara visiting
Mike Goldberg
who is painting
sardines into
his picture
but when it’s
finished Frank
goes back and
says : Where’s
the sardines?
They’re gone
they were too
much says
Mike Goldberg

John Lyons

Manhattan’s lonely crowd

irlandesuk art, poetry , ,

crowd

                 Art class, John Lyons

A crowd
       a fullness
and an emptiness
       tightly pressed
together and yet
       so far apart
each one mysteriously
       transparent
open-mouthed
       expectant

perhaps each hoping
       to trade in
their inner 5th Avenue
       their fragility
their soulful aloneness
       for some firm
intimate connection
       one with another

John Lyons

Reposted to correct layout

What painting teaches

irlandesuk art, poetry

gate 4

What painting teaches us
that things can go wrong
that things can be put right
give it time – drying time

pay attention and listen
to what the canvas has to say
don’t be afraid to experiment
try out fresh colours or add

a few extra lines here and there
the medium has its own eloquence
try to see what is there to see
hiding in plain sight or

behind the closed door
think of it as furniture
that may be turned around
in room so that everything

eventually comes together
try to think inside and
outside of the frame
and never admit defeat

John Lyons

Sonata in oils

irlandesuk art, poetry

gate_3
        Sonata, John Lyons (40 x 40 cm, oil on canvas)

The painting is the puzzle
the painting is the journey

the painting is the gateway
a way in and a way out

the painting is a process
inchoate incomplete

perhaps never to be
finitely finished but simply

jettisoned out through the door
and into the outer world

John Lyons