The Idea of Order at Key West

The outer voice

irlandesuk poésie, poetry ,

The outer voice that speaks
of the never-ending river that runs
between the mountainous folds
of ancient earth That voice prone
to the articulation of pain and joy
which celebrates the warm summer
air as well as the bite of frost
when temperatures dip

The outer voice absorbed
in the senses and that clings
to past foundations laid
in heaps of high memory

The outer voice that strives
to outdo the grinding water
and the gasping wind knowing
that the syllables of love
are as soft as the whisper
of a barbastelle bat

John Lyons

La voix extérieure

La voix extérieure, celle qui parle
du fleuve sans fin qui coule entre
les replis montagneux de la terre
ancestrale. Cette voix prompte à
exprimer la douleur et la joie,
qui célèbre la chaleur de l’été
autant que la morsure du gel
lorsque les températures chutent.

La voix extérieure, absorbée par
les sens, qui s’accroche aux fondations
du passé, bâties en amas
de souvenirs précieux.

La voix extérieure qui s’efforce
de surpasser le grondement
de l’eau et le souffle du vent,
sachant que les syllabes
de l’amour sont aussi douces
que le murmure d’une barbastelle.

The sea’s sad music

irlandesuk poetry , ,

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 idea of order

irlandesuk poetry ,

The idea of order

Whose spirit is this
that rises every day
that shapes meaning
out of nothing
that defies the seasons
and the passage of time
to sing of roses
and nightingales
to gild the moment
with deep love

a voice driven
by gestures
of the mind
ennobled
by the ebb
and flow of tides
by moon-phases
a voice that willfully
scatters words
where petals
are wont to lie

John Lyons

Die Idee der Ordnung

Wessen Geist ist das
das steigt jeden Tag
das formt die Bedeutung
aus dem Nichts
das trotzt den Jahreszeiten
und der Lauf der Zeit
von Rosen und Nachtigallen
singen
den Moment vergolden
mit tiefer Liebe ?

eine Stimme getrieben
durch Gesten
aus dem Gedächtnis
geadelt
von der Ebbe
und Fluss der Gezeiten
durch Mondphasen
eine Stimme, die absichtlich
streut Wörter
wo Blütenblätter
sind gewohnt
sich hinzulegen