At Cristo Rei we sat
on the volcanic shore
watched the cool blue sea
turn over and over
felt the sun fierce on our flesh
saw the children cavorting
in the warm water
Nature has its own passion
it shapes the land
and offers us a compendium
of time and space and energy
We who are part of it
can become lost in it
We who so long for love
and so easily lose it
2020
John Lyons
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L’amour au bord de l’océan
À Cristo Rei nous nous sommes assis
sur le rivage volcanique
à regarder la mer d’un bleu frais
rouler et se briser sans fin,
à sentir le soleil ardent sur notre peau,
à voir les enfants s’ébattre
dans l’eau tiède.
La nature possède sa propre passion ;
elle façonne la terre
et nous offre une synthèse
de temps, d’espace et d’énergie.
Nous qui en faisons partie
pouvons nous y perdre ;
nous qui aspirons tant à l’amour
et le perdons si facilement.
Madeira
The poet’s melodeon
How constant this ocean
gnawing day in day out
at the rock face : at night
clouds move across the sky
their progress tracked
by whales who keep
to the shadows cast
by the moonlight
Blue waters by day
time barely ruffled in the breeze
curls of light finely shaved
a virtuoso performance
in which we are all the players
the crash of cymbals
and the roar of horns
here at our birthplace
Think of Wallace Stevens
his obsession with melody
and with number
his mother’s fingers
on the keyboard
the silence of his bass voice
as he composed his poetry
delving deep into his emotions
remembering the blue silk
the clear warm evenings
the homeliness of life
the beauty behind every breath
whispers of immortality
in the mute nights
fitful tracings overlaid
with love
John Lyons
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Le mélodéon du poète
Comme il est constant, cet océan
qui ronge, jour après jour,
la paroi rocheuse : la nuit,
les nuages traversent le ciel,
leur course suivie
par des baleines qui se tiennent
dans les ombres projetées
par le clair de lune
Eaux bleues le jour, le temps
à peine frémi par la brise,
volutes de lumière finement ciselées,
une performance de virtuose
dont nous sommes tous les acteurs,
le fracas des cymbales
et le rugissement des cuivres,
ici, sur notre terre natale
Songez à Wallace Stevens,
à son obsession de la mélodie
et du nombre,
aux doigts de sa mère
sur le clavier,
au silence de sa voix de basse
tandis qu’il composait sa poésie,
puisant au plus profond de ses émotions,
se souvenant de la soie bleue,
des soirées claires et douces,
de la simplicité familière de la vie,
de la beauté derrière chaque souffle,
des murmures d’immortalité
dans les nuits silencieuses,
tracés incertains recouverts
d’amour
Sweet bird-of-paradise
Bird-of-paradise
more than meets the eye
stiff erect leathery leaves
bluish green with perhaps
a red midrib
held aloft on a long petiole
the orange and blue flowers
have two erect pointed petals
and five stamens :
the flower bract is shaped
like a boat
with green and red borders
—it bears fruit capsules
containing numerous seeds
An angel masquerading
as exotic flora
its role is to induce calm
in the eye of the beholder
so much effortless beauty
rising out of the earth
its silence announces
that all will be well and that
wherever it is present
there will be peace and love
John Lyons
A day at the beach- Prainha do Caniçal
A secluded family beach
set in a natural cove
and accessible only
by a series of steep steps
: there you bathed
and we lay on our towels
and lapped up
the unbroken sunshine
When lunch came
four sardines on a plate
and a bowl of French fries
which we ate overlooking
the immaculate ocean
: from sunrise to sunset
all that we had was what
we had within our hands
John Lyons
Just add a little lipstick
The Portuguese budião
or wrasse
is a curious thick-lipped fish
and an Atlantic loner –
all are born female
but over the years
many mutate to male
at which point they build
circular nests of algae
leaving open slits
where the female
lays its eggs
The English name comes
from the Cornish gwragh
a mouthful meaning old woman or hag
but lightly grilled
its mild white flesh
is a culinary delight
John Lyons
Love and trust
These then are the people we are
we travel back and forth
to Funchal or to Machico
to Seixal or to Porto Moniz
we lie on sun-drenched beaches
and navigate the rocks and stones
we drink from plastic bottles
and climb steep rugged hills
with the agility of billy goats
we eat whatever the restaurants
push our way without complaint
we examine our consciences
by reading the old colonial histories
stamped on church walls and ceilings
After dark we count countless stars
and pay allegiance to a golden moon
sparrowhawks mewl in the night
and visit the ledges of our dreams
We are all the things we ever wanted to be
yet having travelled so far
still have so far to go
love and trust stroll hand in hand
through narrow dusty streets
love and trust lie in a single bed
love and trust bring new names
into the world and shield the dead
from permanent death
paradise we know can be clinched
with a kiss if the time is right
and good fortune comes our way
to keep growling hound dogs
and sacrificial gods at bay
John Lyons
Sipping smoothies in Garajau
Whether of peach or mango
we sat under shade
and sipped our smoothies
and beheld the day
filled with sunshine
and quiet words
amid snippets
of the life stories
we exchanged
Here there was silence
for the taking
and gentle steps of affection
as the truths one by one
were released
into the atmosphere
How two narratives
can become intertwined
so that a convergence of news
and consciousness occurs
just as our feet followed
for a few days
a shared path
At four in the afternoon
the sun at its fiercest
and sometimes we bathed
in the cerulean sea
and sometimes we lounged
or climbed steep hills
through narrow streets
lined with banana or fig trees
our heels kicking up the dust
of those long departed
and reaching our destination
we panted for breath
and gasped for water
like lovers whose energies
are sapped by the depth
of their endless entanglement
and at nightfall a dark sky
hovered above the land
and one by one the stars appeared
etching out an array
of unfathomable distances
so placing all our intimacies
into proportion underlining
the farness and the nearness
of unadulterated love
John Lyons
Venus in retreat
Volcanic rock
ground down by the sea
to so much bonemeal
the black sands of Seixal
a gentle sloping beach
on a Saturday worn down
by lackadaisical summertime
We are all here to go
and many have gone
before us
recycled into the cosmos
this place of constant birth
and death and birth again
From the same minerals
this congealed lava
and the supple tissues that beat
in my breast and the blood
that surges through my veins
The rising wind in her hair
the thin line of her lips
curled into a reticent smile
and so her hips sway
as she enters the waves
Venus in retreat
John Lyons
The sea’s sad music
At dawn
I go down to the sea
drawn to its mystery
I listen to its silence
it too has mountains
deep and unknown
and when the wind rises
it has a dark voice
that grinds and gasps
as it gropes for the shore
At sunrise the light shimmers
across its surface
I see myself
in the glassy reflection
and listen to the ocean’s sighs
that appear to echo my own
Where was love
in all this meaningless motion
where was pity and passion
where were the words of soft speech
where were the palpable
signs of affection
where were the gestures
capable of defusing time
where were the keen kisses
to soothe my soul
where were the answers
to stem the cruel tide ?
Night falls
and a golden moon
gives way to blistering stars
bronze shadows stride
across the fragrant water
all is memory
all is loss
all is done
John Lyons
The flesh and bone of it
This is the flesh and bone of it
whether to be or not to be
the doubts and the indecisions
that make a mockery of time
Fine sand shifting in the clear waters
the gentle roll of waves on the shore
and in the distance an empty eternity
that constantly reminds us of how far
we have travelled and how far
we have to go and the slow dawning
of knowledge that tells us that love
is an answer but not the answer
that something deeper needs to occur
before even love can find a safe haven
I watch the boats that ferry passengers
from place to place from one arena
to another and with them they carry
their secret hopes and fears
their dreams and their ambitions
and I wonder where their true loves lie
John Lyons
