Paris

City of Light

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Beneath our various lives
           beneath the day-to-day
that timeless centre of self
           where our serenities gather

and here a horde of memories
           set in gold and untouchable
a meal in a small bistro
           up from the Musée d’Orsay

steak tartare and frites
           and the pelting rain
that kept us trapped
           for an hour or two

up from the museum
           where the dead hunted
for our love and admiration
           but all we had was mutual

John Lyons

La Ville Lumière

Sous nos vies diverses,
           sous le quotidien,
ce centre intemporel de soi, où
           se rassemblent nos sérénités,

et ici une foule de souvenirs,
           sertis d’or et intouchables :
un repas dans un petit bistrot,
           non loin du musée d’Orsay,

un steak tartare et des frites,
           et la pluie féroce
qui nous retenait prisonniers
           une heure ou deux,

non loin du musée,
           où les morts rôdaient, en quête
de notre amour et de notre admiration,
           mais nous n’étions que mutuels.

Life is such a small price to pay

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A harmony of chance You
so unexpected but so welcome
in my life I had already travelled
through so many towns and cities
and you breathed on that day
the breath of love into me

It has taken years to sustain
the memory   The steps we took
together  Call it a rhapsody
or a Traviata of the soul
an unrehearsed ballet
an unworldly pas de deux
that carried us to distant seashores
and narrow Venetian canals
and along the Parisian quais
to a boutique hotel in Budapest
and soft eggs draped in fatback
before we crossed the river
of no return of no regrets
Life is such a small price to pay

John Lyons

La vie est un si petit prix à payer

Une harmonie forgée par le hasard.
Toi, si inattendue mais si bienvenue
dans ma vie. J’avais déjà parcouru
tant de villes et de villages, et ce jour-là,
tu as insufflé en moi le souffle de l’amour.

Il m’a fallu des années pour soutenir
le souvenir. Les pas que nous avons faits
ensemble. Appelons cela une rhapsodie
ou une Traviata de l’âme, un ballet
improvisé, un pas de deux
hors du commun qui nous a menés
vers des rivages lointains, d’étroits
canaux vénitiens, le long des quais
parisiens, jusqu’à un hôtel de charme
à Budapest et des œufs moelleux
nappés de lard gras, avant de traverser
le fleuve du sans retour, du sans regrets.
La vie est un si petit prix à payer.

Was Paris not paradise?

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Out of heaven’s orchards
the impeccable fruit of life
Light dancing on the surface
of the Seine as we strolled
hand in hand holding our breath
or counting our steps or lost
in the words that really needed
no saying : knowing only love
secure in the sense of ourselves
in the radiance of days
and the unbroken luxury
of starry nights undeterred
by the peal of Notre Dame’s bells
and in the slow drip of time
immune to the urgent pulse
of city life – smiling in the face
of our good fortune when being
there together in Paris
was more than enough

John Lyons

Paris n’était-il pas un paradis ?

Hors des vergers du paradis,
le fruit impeccable  de la vie.
La lumière scintillant sur la Seine
tandis que nous promenions
main dans la main, le souffle suspendu,
comptant nos pas ou plongés
dans un silence qui parlait mieux
que les mots : le simple bonheur d’aimer,
la sérénité d’être soi-même, la beauté
des journées et le luxe incomparable
des nuits étoilées, indifférents au son
des cloches de Notre-Dame
et dans le lent défilement du temps,
à l’écart du tumulte de la ville,
souriant face à notre bonne fortune,
car être ensemble à Paris
était plus que suffisant.

Love is all we have

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Love these cool
October mornings
when we wake to a world
on the edge of frost
but with the expectation
of sunshine and a blue sky

As I walk in the street
my spent breath dissipates
before my eyes

In the background
I hear the chatter
of sparrows
the cooing of pigeons

This is the story of time
and all our evanescent days
that are bound to vanish
no matter how earnestly
we attempt to seize them

The flow is relentless –
the rivers that run down
to the sea or the bells
that toll for us all
on the tower
of the Conciergerie

The pulse of blood
carries me forward
on a tide of oxygen
I may love you
or leave you
You may love me
or leave me

But time is all we have
for the present

Once in a while

irlandesuk poetry

Once in a while
a story within a story
a life within a life
with leaves falling
and wet pavements
and early morning mists
and the memory of chestnuts
roasted over an open fire
and how long it takes
to be a year
with so much hope

Once in a while
all is well with the world
and things fall into place
and the time is ripe
and nobody notices
the passing hours
and here is a bridge
crossing the river Seine
where on a summer’s day
we paused
and held each other
in a gentle embrace

Once in a while
there is not much further
to go before nightfall
and contentment is the order
of the day and we are pleased
with ourselves
and what we have achieved
the pleasures we have taken
the short and the long
and not a chance missed
and love is as endless
as a piece of string

John Lyons


Paris France

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Paris France

France is a single street
that moves up and down the country

sometimes its centre is Paris
Sometimes it’s Nice or Lyon

But always it’s always a single street
which has no beginning

and no end
And it’s full of French earth

washed by many fine rivers
that flow down from

tall mountains and hills
into the valleys into the sea

John Lyons

What the shoes show

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shoes

What the shoes show

This is Paris
           just before Bastille Day
in the flat where we stayed
           and these are our shoes
parked together at night
           my boots dusty
from our walk through
           the Jardins des Tuileries

This was the day you took me
           for a martini at the Ritz
the day we visited
           the Fondation Louis Vuitton
with its spectacular waterfall
           the day we rode the Ferris wheel
and I photographed you
           in your floral print dress
and we held hands
           and we were in love

John Lyons

Revised and corrected

At La Closerie des Lilas

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closerie

At La Closerie des Lilas

That evening we spent
           with Ulyana and her friend
talking over a bottle of wine
           while the shades of Cézanne
and Oscar Wilde moved
           among the tables

There where the Surrealists
           once came to blows
with their opponents
           you talked of the politics
dividing the Ukrainians
           of Philadelphia
the egos and the rivalries
           the desire to control

there where back in the day
           Picasso and Modigliani
came calmly to chat
           and Joyce and Beckett
and on occasions
           Gertrude Stein

and Hemingway
           of course
in every bar

But I’d gladly return there
           with you if you would too :
would you ?

 

John Lyons

End of the affair

irlandesuk poetry ,

End of the affair

Love emerges intact
            from the edge of night
the poverty of winter
            behind us now
the disparate particles
            coalescing into what
we once were
            coupled in our nature
I who am still warm
            with love and you
who have grown
            distant and cold

I let you go
            I bid you farewell
make no attempt
            to restrain you
My love is yours to reject
             yours to regret
for the rest
            of your life

I cannot bind you to the memory
            of Tooley Street
nor the dusty roads of Paris
            nor to the easy give and take
of our salad days
            Though the mornings
have grown silent
            I say go
go to be whomsoever you need to be
            go wherever you will

Did you think
            that the moon
would fall at your feet
            or that all the earth’s rivers
would run dry ?
            In my eyes I hold
the courage to observe
            your departure
In my wounded heart
            I await your return

John Lyons

Musée d’Orsay 

irlandesuk poetry ,

Musée
Musée d’Orsay, Paris

Musée d’Orsay 

A place of memories
            of you and I
where we once were
            of days gone by
when love was love
            so easy on the lips
as hand in hand
            we strolled
through our life
            without a care

A terminus
            where works of art
end their days
            marooned for all time
in this huge hall under the eye
            of the clock

A place in the memory
            in the heart and soul
of tenderness and love
            that never fades
that never ends
            will never die

John Lyons