Shakespeare

The early morning air in Shoreditch

irlandesuk poésie, poetry ,

I love the early morning air
the way it hits the lungs
and tells me how good it is
to be alive and to be walking
the streets around Shoreditch
where Shakespeare once performed
in the early hours
just before the offices open
It’s one of the most alive places
on the planet
full of the real buzz of life
people who have come
from their beds
with fresh energy
ready to engage with the day
with the win-some lose-some
open mind you get
from a good night’s sleep

I love the bustle and the jostle
of people prepared
to make a go of it
I love the sound of friendship
in the air as people greet or part
and go on their way to work
I love the simple affections
that bind us all together
and the deep love
in my heart

2019

John Lyons
______________________________

L’air du petit matin à Shoreditch

J’adore l’air du petit matin,
la façon dont il emplit mes poumons
et me confirme combien
il est bon d’être en vie et de flâner
dans les rues de Shoreditch,
où Shakespeare jouait autrefois,
aux aurores, juste avant l’ouverture
des bureaux. C’est l’un des endroits
les plus vivants de la planète,
vibrant de l’énergie du quotidien,
avec des gens qui se lèvent
avec une énergie fraîche,
prêts à affronter la journée avec
cette ouverture d’esprit que procure
une bonne nuit de sommeil,
ce sentiment d’imprévisibilité
propre aux aléas de la vie.

J’aime l’effervescence
et la cohue des gens,
prêts à se lancer. J’aime
entendre les salutations amicales,
les adieux, et la hâte de se rendre au travail.
J’aime les simples marques d’affection
qui nous unissent et l’amour profond
qui remplit mon cœur.

Through the velvet leaves 

irlandesuk poésie, poetry ,

Through the velvet leaves the wind
Blossom falling falling falling

Sunlight and dust – the wide river
in the distance – tiny bluebirds

hopping from branch to branch
squirrels chasing their tails –

The rough and tumble of nature
Food for all and a place to live

Each species has its song and dance
Many mate for life – humanity is

the only weapon of mass destruction
Let’s learn and call an end to war

John Lyons
_______________________________________

À travers le feuillage velouté

À travers le feuillage velouté, le vent.
Fleurs qui tombent, tombent, tombent.

Du soleil et de la poussière – le large
fleuve au loin – des merles bleus butinent

de branche en branche,
des écureuils se poursuivent.

Le tumulte de la nature. De la nourriture
pour tous et un lieu où vivre.

Chaque espèce a son chant et sa danse.
Beaucoup s’accouplent pour la vie – l’humanité

est la seule arme de destruction massive.
Apprenons et mettons fin à la guerre.

How like a winter your absence

irlandesuk poetry

How like a winter your absence has been
how cold the days    how dark the starry nights
and all around the bare December scene
I swear it breaks my heart to see such sights
The countryside now racked by bitter frosts
no leaf    no fruit    just misery abounds
and farmers facing ruin
                                      count their costs
while poacher and gamekeeper do their rounds
And yet all seemed so fair in summer time
when you and I took pleasure where we willed
with joy each village steeple seemed to chime
and not a day went by but it was filled
with love in all its deep simplicity
our loving hearts content
                                          as they should be

John Lyons

We are the stuff of light

irlandesuk poetry

We are
the stuff
of light
of energy
of mass

our movements
are planetary
galactic
cosmic

deep
relationships
abound
on all sides

feather
wing
beak
sparrow

love too
the coalescence
of two sources
two beams

that shine
brighter
alongside
each other

our dreams
too the stuff
of light
of being

in a universe
in which
no nothing
exists

John Lyons

From ash to dust

irlandesuk poetry

Under the sycamore
the dry seeds
worn to dust
thousands of them
from a single tree

I sit in the shade
and look out
across the meadow
where away
in the distance
a young couple
is sunbathing

This is still summer
and the leaves
are still green
and their flesh
is still supple
and unmarked
by time

A universe of light
and cinders :
all things turn to ash
and ash to dust
and every memory
will be forgotten

Salad days pass
the young grow old
even language tires
of endless repetition
All things are senseless
all life unless
imbued with love

John Lyons

The rest is silence

irlandesuk art, poésie, poetry , ,

lascaux

As the fire blazed
       in the mouth of the cave
pigments were mixed
       and applied to the walls
the deer and antelope admired
       and keenly observed
and hunted for food
       : art in order to render
their deep respect for
       this source of life

that others might know
       their story
their values
       the word inseparable
from the deed
       an imagist language
a timeless articulation
       in time and space

John Lyons

Le reste est silence

Alors que le feu flambait
       dans l’embouchure de la grotte
les pigments ont été mélangés
       et appliqués sur les murs
le cerf et l’antilope admirés
       et vivement observés
et chassés pour se nourrir
       : l’art pour rendre
leur profond respect pour
       cette source de vie

que d’autres puissent savoir
       de leur histoire
de leurs valeurs
       le mot inséparable
de l’acte
       un langage imagiste
une articulation intemporelle
       dans le temps et dans l’espace

On the cutting room floor

irlandesuk art, poetry

  news1                       The cutting room floor, John Lyons (40 x 40 cm, mixed media on canvas)

Think of the canvas
       as a board
as a Shakespearean stage
       imagine who treads here
Lear or Hamlet or Othello
       Ophelia or Desdemona

words words words
       cut up and thrown
haphazardly as though
       chance were a fine thing
all of this scissored
       out of yesterday’s news
present states
       relentlessly slipping
into the past
       make no bones about it

whether it were better
       or nobler in the mind
enough drama to last us
       a lifetime or more
decisions decisions
       that the artist must take
much editing to be done
       only twenty-four hours
before it’s time to sweep
       the cutting room floor

John Lyons

A word in your ear

irlandesuk art, poetry , ,

snail

What’s in
       a snail ?
a name
       a shape
a notion
       of speed
an inner
       ear

cochlea
       helix
such perfect
       geometry
a plump
       tasty pod
filled with
       damp desire

an aristocrat
       among others
in its blue robe
       its horned crown
sitting upon
       a bloody throne

John Lyons

Shakespeare’s pulse

irlandesuk poetry

Shakespeare’s pulse

Shakespeare’s pulse
            is in the language
his poetry speaks
            for itself
and he offers
            no explanation
Simply put
            it is what the words say
The culture is not
            in the knowledge
but in the expression
            He puts breath
into desire
            and all those questions
that make us human
            and so we wonder
and we want
            but only love
brings reconciliation
            and contentment

John Lyons

Our trade in love

irlandesuk poetry ,

Our trade in love

As the year turns
            and seasons slip
one into another
            the still air lies lightly
above the land
            nature on its marks
about to burst
            into colour

and this our trade in love
            the history of our blood
the lines that have brought us
            to this convergence
to the ceremony
            of our commingled flesh
each with an inexhaustible
            appetite for life

our nails pared
            our hair trimmed
the deep breath
            as we embrace
Passion’s give and take
            our lives no less mysterious
than those of the foxes
            that live in the reality
of our imagination :
            and in your body
I see the map of my heart
            the endless path
that I must take
            time and time again

John Lyons

Give me some music; music, moody food
Of us that trade in love.
                              Antony and Cleopatra