The bare bones of life
breath drawn at dawn
a new day to be lived
in peace and in love
We are the stars
of our known universe
and our task is to shine
as best we can
John Lyons
poetry
A view from my room
A clear day and no memories
I see the tall overgrown grass
bathed in the grey light and
here and there the stems
of dandelions waiting for the sun
before they’ll unfold their flowers
: birds are flying overhead
but there is complete silence
As the wind rises the branches
of the trees at the end of the garden
begin to sway to its rhythm
The picnic table is littered
with dry faded blossom and the empty
wooden chairs have that forlorn
abandoned look as though none of us
had ever been here before
John Lyons
Let innocence age
Let innocence age
how light travels
through the decades
a young child
on a suburban train
gazes at me
smiles
across the cosmos
down the tunnel
of time
seeing his origins
in reverse
Those early years
of which so little
is remembered
life’s preamble
barely off hands
and knees
and how the hands
themselves vie
with the eyes
in the search
for understanding
and palpable love
John Lyons
Not of words
Not of words
the poet uses words
to denounce words
longs for a love
not of ideas but of gestures
stability of the land
lapped by the sea
not an expression
but as the sun pulses
as lilies in the field grow
and as the bees
collect their nectar
Words are brief
are soon over
are often lost
or displaced
by the mind
but love is strong
and quiet and peace
and tenderness
are its embodiment
the kiss its seal
John Lyons
Tangled web
Tangled web, John Lyons (70 x 50 cm, oil and enamel paint on canvas)
We have been
over this ground
a thousand times
she said
This is the tangled web
we have woven—
a landscape
in which we can
barely distinguish
the wood for the trees
John Lyons
Sea privilege – Carlos Drummond de Andrade
Carlos Drummond de Andrade (1902-1987)
On this tolerably comfortable terrace,
we drink beer and look out at the sea.
We know that nothing will happen to us.
The building’s solid and so too the world.
We know that every building houses a thousand bodies
toiling away in a thousand identical compartments.
Sometimes some wearily enter the elevator
and come up here to breathe the ocean breeze,
which is a privilege of these buildings.
The world really is made of reinforced concrete.
Surely, if there was a rogue cruiser,
anchored in the bay opposite the city,
life would be uncertain. . . unlikely. . .
But in the calm waters there are only trusty sailors.
How cordial the fleet is!
We can drink our beers with honour.
1940
Carlos Drummond de Andrade
(translation by John Lyons)
Privilégio do Mar
Neste terraço mediocremente confortável,
bebemos cerveja e olhamos o mar.
Sabemos que nada nos acontecerá.
O edifício é sólido e o mundo também.
Sabemos que cada edifício abriga mil corpos
labutando em mil compartimentos iguais.
Às vezes, alguns se inserem fatigados no elevador
e vêm cá em cima respirar a brisa do oceano,
o que é privilégio dos edifícios.
O mundo é mesmo de cimento armado.
Certamente, se houvesse um cruzador louco,
fundeado na baía em frente da cidade,
a vida seria incerta.. . improvável. . .
Mas nas águas tranqüilas só há marinheiros fiéis.
Como a esquadra é cordial!
Podemos beber honradamente nossa cerveja.
With our ash
A clear day
and no memories
a birth at dawn
in the heart of the woodland
where foxes and squirrels
roam timelessly
where owls sit out
the sunlight scarcely
stirring until dusk
where the air is dank
from decaying vegetation
damp soil out of which
new growth new life
the sting of nettles
and the beauty
of blue bells
we who are of the earth
must pay our dues
with our love
with our ash
John Lyons
Parting at morning
Parting at morning
The beauty of beauty
innocence in an age
of experience
a fresh wistful face
as yet unlined by life
a body scarcely knowing love
details yet to be added
language without words
she on the verge
of womanhood
the purity of the body
as yet unveiled
in the rite of love
simplicity of the pose
the dress and hair
an almost boyish look
slant of the shoulders
her top rolled down
but barely revealing
the simplicity
of the pleated skirt
elegance of the arms
relaxed by her side
we wonder what
became of her
with her quizzical smile
and where she went
when she left
the painter’s life
John Lyons
This painting may be viewed at Tate Britain.
Shared hours
The mineral voice of the earth
the breeze that moves
through the fresh
green leaves of summer
leaves that sustain
the patter of rainfall
and are soon dry
once the sun appears
And how her mood changed
how her body grew lighter :
the step of a dancer
as she made her way
through the warmer days
clear days with no memory
other than the pattern of love
drawn across shared hours
John Lyons
Compass of my day
Not least because the sun shone
the air clear of memories
did I find myself the compass
of my day
Small birds sung their morning hymns
and I listened to their world in awe
and pondered the great mystery
of why such accidental beauty
was granted to us on all sides
This being the world in which I walked
and heard and saw and felt for myself
the western day into which I descend
each morning from my dreams of a love
brighter than any star above
John Lyons
johnjosephlyons 