Before the war

On a bitterly cold day
snow falling
on the dark streets
he had a taste
for something warmer
a snug bar serving oysters
with white wine
and a little bread

and as they ate and drank
from time to time
she leaned into him
her warm cheek against
his warm cheek
and he could feel
the beat of her heart
This was before the war

John Lyons


Avant la guerre

Par une journée glaciale
où la neige tombait
sur les rues sombres,
il a eu envie de quelque chose
de plus chaud : un bar chaleureux
où l’on servait des huîtres
avec du vin blanc
et un peu de pain.

Et tandis qu’ils mangeaient
et buvaient, de temps à autre,
elle se penchait vers lui,
sa joue chaude contre la sienne,
et il sentait les battements
de son cœur.
C’était avant la guerre.

The botany of beauty

Perennial Honesty : a popular cottage
garden plant famous for its fragrant
spring flowers and for its translucent
silver-dollar-shaped seed pods
It thrives in sunshine or partial shade
in moist well-drained soil

A true perennial — it provides early nectar
and is food for the caterpillars
of the orange-tipped butterfly
Linnaeus so well understood
the botany of beauty that penetrates
every aspect of our lives and never
betrays our love or our trust

John Lyons


La botanique de la beauté

La lunaire vivace : une plante populaire
des jardins de campagne, célèbre
pour ses fleurs printanières parfumées
et ses capsules de graines translucides
en forme de pièce d’argent. Elle prospère
au soleil ou à mi-ombre, dans un sol
humide et bien drainé.

Véritable vivace, elle offre un nectar
précoce et nourrit les chenilles
du papillon à pointe orange.
Linné comprenait si bien la botanique
de la beauté qui imprègne chaque aspect
de nos vies et ne trahit jamais
notre amour ni notre confiance.

Once upon a time. . .

The living tongue
and a single mind
Words that grow
out of words
Feelings that grow
out of feelings

Remember at dawn
on a Sunday : the crest
of passion : limbs locked
mouth pinned to mouth
in a transport of delight

Such sweet sorrow
when we parted
and no solace since
Pretty is a poor relation
The hands have their language
they beckon and they
shoo away Nothing lasts
forever though art and poetry
make a valiant attempt

The peacock is immortal
the hen lays golden eggs
Once upon a time is
not the end of the story

John Lyons


Il était une foi. . .

La langue vivante
et un esprit déterminé,
des mots qui naissent des mots,
des sentiments qui naissent
des sentiments. Souviens-toi,
à l’aube d’un dimanche : l’apogée
de la passion : les membres enlacés,
bouche contre bouche,
transportés de délice.

Une si douce tristesse
lors de notre séparation,
et aucun réconfort depuis.
La joliesse est une pauvre parente.
Les mains ont leur langage,
elles appellent et elles repoussent.
Rien ne dure éternellement,
même si l’art et la poésie
font une vaillante tentative.

Le paon est immortel,
la paonne pond des œufs d’or.
« Il était une fois » n’est pas
la fin de l’histoire.

The intimacy of eyes

The intimacy of eyes
worth more than gold
more than the brightest diamond
the intimacy of eyes we shared
when first we fell in love

My craft is to put your beauty
into words but I fail on every occasion
How to capture the gentle breath
on your lips or the subtle beat
of your heart  I worship you
at Apollo’s altar and bring flowers
to lay at your feet  But it is
never enough Had I the song
of a robin or a nightingale
I would sing for you every day

In Berlin snow fell on the linden
trees and we held hands
in the darkness in the silence
beneath a canopy of stars

John Lyons


L’intimité des yeux

L’intimité de nos regards, plus
précieuse que l’or, plus précieuse
que le plus brillant des diamants,
l’intimité de nos regards échangés
lorsque nous sommes tombés amoureux.

Mon art est de traduire ta beauté
en mots, mais j’échoue à chaque fois.
Comment capturer le souffle léger
sur tes lèvres ou le battement subtil
de ton cœur ? Je te vénère sur l’autel
d’Apollon et j’apporte des fleurs à tes pieds,
mais ce n’est jamais assez. Si j’avais le chant
d’un rouge-gorge ou d’un rossignol,
je chanterais pour toi chaque jour.

À Berlin, la neige tombait sur les tilleuls
et nous nous tenions la main
dans l’obscurité, dans le silence,
sous une voûte étoilée.

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

Love and understanding

At night open skies
not a single cloud
pinpricks of light
from the wise stars

tissue of my flesh
woven from their energy
all my hopes all my desires
driven by their impulse

Nothing hidden under a bushel
the illuminations of art
and the written word
predicated on sight and insight

Reason and rhyme :
we’re here to make sense
as a child learns to count
to place a finger on the pulse

Love and understanding
all that brings satisfaction
and contentment
to the restless heart

John Lyons

The body thrives


That we are things

        things that think
we are stone
        made flesh

the atomic numbers
        within us that hold
our thoughts
        and our feelings

We search for meaning
        on all sides
and within ourselves
        direction and purpose

and we set great store
        by love in all forms
by beauty in all forms
        by truth in every instance

Though it may take an eternity
        the universe is countable
its infinity finite and bound
        by contraction—by attraction

love is the quantum
        song is its expression
light its revelation : the body
        thrives in its consummation

John Lyons

 

How Beautiful You Are

Art or a shared thought
        a certain fixed combination
of words or shapes
        or numbers in a mathematical
formula : a theorem or
        a theory

How when they are captured
        they transcend time and space —
the eternal curves of the lines
        presented on canvas
Les Demoiselles d’Avignon
        that transport us to 1907
and beyond

They mixed pigments
        by the fireside
before daubing the walls : later
        panels or cloth stretched
on a frame that allowed
        the walls to be transported

Is it the heart
        or the mind that delights
in infinite things ?
        Let’s call them
death cheaters

Art
        Imagination
Creation
        The music of the spheres
harmony abounds
        and our senses
soak it all up

How beautiful the nightingale
        How beautiful the Grecian Urn
Autumn fields heavy with dew
        The cold North
and the warm South
        The drowsy Mediterranean

How beautiful the body
        How beautiful life
How beautiful love
        How beautiful the air
we breathe    How beautiful
        you are

John Lyons


Highly recommended, The Cloud of Witness a retrospective of paintings by Keith Cunningham at the Newport Street Gallery till 21 August 2022. Free admission.

Alive loves

The art and understanding
        of small children
innocent seeds sown
        into the dust

All that grows
        flourishes
flowers
        that brings beauty
in time

See how the leaves
        have burst forth
how spring has renewed
        the face of our earth

The remedy
        against the clock
is to steep oneself
        in art
according to
        Zukofsky

to make of life
        a long paradise
to cultivate one’s
        own garden of eden

Alive loves

John Lyons