March 2018
Barbara Goldberg
barbaragoldberg8@gmail.com
barbaragoldberg8@gmail.com
The author of five prize-winning books of poetry, including The Royal Baker’s Daughter (winner of the Felix Pollak Poetry Award), my most recent book is Kingdom of Speculation. I have received two fellowships from the National Endowment for the Arts as well as awards in translation, fiction and speechwriting. I am Series Editor of the Word Works’ International Editions, my latest selection being Handful of Salt, translations of the Kurdish poet Kajal Ahmad. Please visit my website, www.barbaragoldberg.net.
THE FULLNESS THEREOF
The earth is the Lord’s, and the fullness thereof; the world, and they that dwell therein.
-Psalm 24
i
In the beginning a riot of color, burnt umber, magenta,
madder red. Vast expanses of indigo. There was thunder
and the absence of thunder. There was heat, earth shifting,
hills swelling, ridges rising. Then came the fingerlings,
the frogs and dark-eyed juncos. Possum and hawk
and fox. There were buffalo, mountain lions. There were
slender legs of spiders and dragonflies. Mosquitoes trapped
on salmon-colored salamanders’ flickering tongues. Black
bears lumbering through the underbrush. Speckled eggs,
beavers, fire ants. Night crawlers wriggling below, crows
cawing above, there was earth and the fullness thereof.
ii
We forded the river, the one named Euphrates, the highest
mountain, we called it Mount George, the one we crossed
over, Mount Spotswood. We numbered the trout and muskie,
the brooks they swam in. We tracked all species of fowl.
We blazed trails in the forest and left distinguishing marks.
The winnowing down of daylight, that was good. Once
two geese swooped in. He swam up and down the pond
fixing his amber eye on me. She tucked her head beneath
one wing. Stars were our faithful companions and we drank
to their health, as we did to the King and the rest of the Royal
Family. In this way we cleared the path to today.
iii
It’s hard to think of home without the hawthorn and the scat
of deer and mole. It’s hard to think of fall without the sight
of scurrying squirrels packing nuts into their cheeks, fearing
humans less than winter. It’s hard to think of me without my
hound, my hound, heaven’s staunchest ally. It’s hard to live
on this land without hearing sounds of all sorts of creatures, all
digging out towards light, or burrowing within, breathing deeply
of the darkening night. To love a place is to love where you are,
to know it is beyond compare, the air, the scent, it might as well
be skin, it is to touch, be touched by everything in the surround,
to feel at one yet fully other in this diverse dominion.
AMULET
May the Lord of Death pass over
this house. May the Lord of Envy
not curdle our whey. May the Lord
of Greed release us from craving.
Great Lord of Time, grant us a stay.
A GOURMAND’S PRAYER
Yellowtail snapper with citrus beurre blanc, filet
mignon in demi-glace cabernet, roast duck garnished
with mint jellied peaches, angels on horseback – dates
stuffed with garlic cloves wrapped in bacon and served
in a hot honey-pepper sauce, bananas foster, key
lime pie, dense, flourless chocolate cake drizzled
with a raspberry coulis, Lord, grant me the power
to well digest all that I have well eaten.
FLOCK
The Lord is my shepherd
He rides a red tractor
His work boots caked
With earth and dried dung
He leadeth His sheep
Beside the green pastures
His black dog yapping
To keep them in line
They bow their heads down
To nibble the clover
And lap still waters
They do not want
Nor fear any evil
Grazing in shadows
Their guttural baahs
Akin to amen
THE FULLNESS THEREOF
The earth is the Lord’s, and the fullness thereof; the world, and they that dwell therein.
-Psalm 24
i
In the beginning a riot of color, burnt umber, magenta,
madder red. Vast expanses of indigo. There was thunder
and the absence of thunder. There was heat, earth shifting,
hills swelling, ridges rising. Then came the fingerlings,
the frogs and dark-eyed juncos. Possum and hawk
and fox. There were buffalo, mountain lions. There were
slender legs of spiders and dragonflies. Mosquitoes trapped
on salmon-colored salamanders’ flickering tongues. Black
bears lumbering through the underbrush. Speckled eggs,
beavers, fire ants. Night crawlers wriggling below, crows
cawing above, there was earth and the fullness thereof.
ii
We forded the river, the one named Euphrates, the highest
mountain, we called it Mount George, the one we crossed
over, Mount Spotswood. We numbered the trout and muskie,
the brooks they swam in. We tracked all species of fowl.
We blazed trails in the forest and left distinguishing marks.
The winnowing down of daylight, that was good. Once
two geese swooped in. He swam up and down the pond
fixing his amber eye on me. She tucked her head beneath
one wing. Stars were our faithful companions and we drank
to their health, as we did to the King and the rest of the Royal
Family. In this way we cleared the path to today.
iii
It’s hard to think of home without the hawthorn and the scat
of deer and mole. It’s hard to think of fall without the sight
of scurrying squirrels packing nuts into their cheeks, fearing
humans less than winter. It’s hard to think of me without my
hound, my hound, heaven’s staunchest ally. It’s hard to live
on this land without hearing sounds of all sorts of creatures, all
digging out towards light, or burrowing within, breathing deeply
of the darkening night. To love a place is to love where you are,
to know it is beyond compare, the air, the scent, it might as well
be skin, it is to touch, be touched by everything in the surround,
to feel at one yet fully other in this diverse dominion.
AMULET
May the Lord of Death pass over
this house. May the Lord of Envy
not curdle our whey. May the Lord
of Greed release us from craving.
Great Lord of Time, grant us a stay.
A GOURMAND’S PRAYER
Yellowtail snapper with citrus beurre blanc, filet
mignon in demi-glace cabernet, roast duck garnished
with mint jellied peaches, angels on horseback – dates
stuffed with garlic cloves wrapped in bacon and served
in a hot honey-pepper sauce, bananas foster, key
lime pie, dense, flourless chocolate cake drizzled
with a raspberry coulis, Lord, grant me the power
to well digest all that I have well eaten.
FLOCK
The Lord is my shepherd
He rides a red tractor
His work boots caked
With earth and dried dung
He leadeth His sheep
Beside the green pastures
His black dog yapping
To keep them in line
They bow their heads down
To nibble the clover
And lap still waters
They do not want
Nor fear any evil
Grazing in shadows
Their guttural baahs
Akin to amen
©2018 Barbara Goldberg