Sunday, 16 May 2021

Five Wonderful Poems by Michael Favala Goldman



David Brower

Glen Canyon, 1956

 

The river was still undammed,

cliffs visible,

wildlife unknowing

their fate.

 

When the water rose

some would proliferate,

some disappear,

and people would come

on jet skis and in rental

canoes, not as well-equipped

as this canoe parked

on the bank. 

 

Though the executive order

had been set in motion

the river was still free,

and he didn’t know,

he could still see

nature according to itself

as he sat on a log,

his grilled steak sagging

slightly over the edges

of his Sierra Club cup. 

 

That night under the stars 

he dreamed of living 

under the water

with all the happy creatures. 

 

 

Weekend Project: moving furniture

 

It was your idea

to reconfigure rooms.

 

I follow along

trying not to upset you.

 

You get sad

then angry

 

because I’m not

taking ownership.

 

You expected us

to do this together.

 

We stop working

and talk.

 

Now you’re crying.

I wasn’t aware

 

there was a problem.

I failed you, again.

 

The one room

is looking quite good.

 

The hallway clogged

with things

 

that don’t have

an obvious destination.

 

 

Of course, this is just my opinion

 

It could go one way or the other.

Either the spring builds up, trickles

or geysers at the surface, or stays

a blind current buried (under fear

or numbness). Yes or no used to be

without explanation, a reaction

to readiness. Then the stairway of logic

built higher and higher in response

to the questioning, as the floor dropped 

stepwise farther into the basement. 

It’s all a construction.


 

Irony

 

The ghost inside me seeks

every opportunity 

 

to make this day 

about me 

 

each wall a mirror

each face an insult. 

 

Or compliment.

I am here for a reason:

 

to pile on validation 

that I’m here for a reason 

 

and around I go 

in the circle cage of days 

 

the light changing 

the leaves changing 

 

and I wonder

where the time goes. 

 

 

Quantum entanglement

 

Our souls came blasting out of Brahman

and they face each other perplexed:

 

How do we belong

to one another?

 

Can we connect

through conflict?

 

Is conflict 

another form of love?




Michael Favala Goldman (b.1966) is a poet, jazz clarinetist and translator of Danish literature. Among his sixteen translated books are The Water Farm Trilogy by Cecil Bødker and Dependency by Tove Ditlevsen (a Penguin Classic). His first book of original poetry, Who has time for this? was published in 2020. HIs second book of poetry, Small Sovereign, is forthcoming this October. He lives in Northampton, MA, where he has been running bi-monthly poetry critique groups since 2018. https://michaelfavalagoldman.com/

 

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