poetry

Taking stock

irlandesuk poetry

Taking stock

What is different
           what remains the same
the pattern of days
           of habits broken
when another enters
           your life
turns it all upside down
           not that you protest
you always felt
           that you could do
with a change
           novelty to replace
recurrence
           rewarding activity
instead of a dreary
           restlessness

That’s life
           a mixture of pleasures
and of pains
           and of the trouble taken
to love one another
           for better or for worse

History is over our heads
           decisions decisions
devoid of intimacy
           we are lucky
to have each other
           Long may it last
I think to myself
           in the silence
of my mind
           my heart at peace

John Lyons

A time of reckoning

irlandesuk poetry

A time of reckoning

A poet is never idle
           never tires of being
of shaping words
           in search of an order
of understanding
           the beauty of all mystery

To read the world
           is a welcome task
to add to the sum of song
           to notice and to commend
the shy snowdrops
           soon to appear
where the green grass
           is sheltered and where
squirrels and crows
           roam freely
and crocuses and fresh
           winter blossom

Now I say
           at valentine’s approach
the worst is behind us
           the days are longer
and spring will soon
           have its revenge
In the heavens
           the stars are aligned
not long now
           until love has its way

John Lyons

Philippe Soupault, two poems

irlandesuk French literature, poetry, translation , ,

Philippe Soupault, two poems

 

Georgia

I can’t sleep Georgia
I shoot arrows in the night Georgia
I’m waiting for Georgia
I think Georgia
Fire is like snow Georgia
The night is my neighbour Georgia
I hear every sound without exception Georgia
I see the smoke rising and seeping away Georgia
I creep along in the shadows Georgia
I run here’s the street the suburbs Georgia
Here’s a city that’s the same
and that’s new to me Georgia
I rush along here comes the wind Georgia
and the cold silence and fear Georgia
I’m leaving Georgia
I’m running away Georgia
the clouds are low they’ll tumble down Georgia
I’m opening my arms Georgia
I can’t close my eyes Georgia
I call Georgia
I shout Georgia
I call Georgia
I call out to you Georgia
Will you come Georgia
soon Georgia
Georgia Georgia Georgia
Georgia
I can’t sleep Georgia
I’m waiting for you
Georgia

 

Epitaph for Francis Picabia

Why
did you want us to bury you with your four dogs
a newspaper
and your hat
You asked us to write on your grave
Have a nice trip
They’re going to take you for a fool up there too

Translations by John Lyons

Philippe Soupault (1897-1990) was a French writer and poet, novelist, critic, and political activist. Active in Dadaism, he later founded the Surrealist movement with André Breton. He was also the translator of William Blake’s Songs of Innocence and Experience into French.

Digression on love

irlandesuk poetry , , ,

Digression on love

The memories
I am bound
to dismantle
of times too good
to be true

of scallops
from Borough Market
in the fluted shells
that the pilgrims wore

Memories of walls
and rivers and boats
and cathedrals
and many a meal
so joyfully shared

At what fence
our love faltered
I’ll never know
like so much
I suppose
I’ll never know

John Lyons

Revised from earlier today

Few words are best

irlandesuk poetry

Few words are best

Few words are best
           too much talk of love
does no favours
           put on thy muzzle
and let actions speak
           let rivers flow
as time drips
           from sand and candles
let four winds blow
           put an end to speculation
and just do
           what must be done

John Lyons

Mallows

irlandesuk poetry

Mallows

Beauty of the marshmallow
           the edible flower
a delicacy to the eye
           and to the palate
rich nourishment
           where it flourishes

So much to admire
           and to enjoy
the winter sky
           sown with fields
of wild stars
           visible
on dark nights
           rewarding us
with a sense
           of perspective

light comfort
           red mallows
in August
           in the poet’s garden
and the bloom of language
           of late love

John Lyons

Love’s lamp

irlandesuk poetry

Love’s lamp

Words of love
           love of words
one or the other
           or both
on a chill January night
           longing for warmth
warm words
           or a companionable body
to share a space until dawn
           Love that puts words
into our mouths
           or a satiated silence
emotions played out
           against a tender timeline
a mutuality of dreams
           held to
with steadfast conviction
           betrayal not on the cards
These dark nights
           when the frost bites
let love’s lamp
           shine bright

John Lyons

Questionality

irlandesuk poetry

Questionality

This way where
           the interrogatives
this way how
           this way when
the investigative life
           the unsettled mind
that questions all things
           the whys and the wherefores
the mysteries with which
           our lives are riddled

How could she
           why did she
why won’t she
           what will she
what does she
           when was it
and how
           and who

O for the natural
           affirmative life of nature
pushing forward
           constantly
hesitations unknown
           each action decisive
and definitive
           no doubt
no deception
           no tears at bedtime

John Lyons

 

Docklands

irlandesuk poetry

Docklands

Across the harbour
           the light dips into the water
and dissolves into darkness
           Long ago the gulls deserted these parts
where ships no longer moor
           A tide of people on the wharfs
but their steps do nothing
           to shift the eerie silence
Tall structures of steel and glass
           rise up on all sides :
here even on a clear winter’s night
           the stars struggle
to make themselves seen
           as the anonymous loveless lives below
teeter before being swallowed
           by the shadows

John Lyons