Two Poems:

Eating Blackberry Jam

When I hear that God is the same as existence,
I fall silent, but I keep turning my eyes
Up to the little creatures of nonexistence.

Some believe that the sea perch became identical
To keep the shark from zeroing in. But staying alive
Doesn't mean they are free from nonexistence.

The cries of the infant barn-swallows rising from
The mud-nests fastened ingeniously to the rafters
Taught me to love the skinny birds of nonexistence.

Taoists with their thin beards fishing all day
With a straight hook tell us they have learned
Not to expect a whole lot from nonexistence.

Blackberries have so many faces that their jam
Is a kind of thickening of nothing; each of us
Loves to eat the thick syrup of nonexistence.

When each stanza closes with the same word,
I am glad. A friend says, "If you're proud of that,
You must be one of the secretaries of nonexistence!"

Bach's B Minor Mass

The Walgravian ancestors step inside Trinity Church.
The tenors, the horns, the sopranos, the altos
Say: "Do not be troubled. Death will come."

The old basses reach into their long coats
And give bits of old bread to the poor, saying,
"Eat, eat, in the shadow of Jethro's garden."

The German words remind us of the old promise
That the orphans will be fed. The oboes say,
"Oh, that promise is too wonderful for us!"

Don't worry about death. The tidal wave that
Wipes out whole cities is merely the wood thrush
Lifting her wings to catch the morning sun.

We know that God gobbles up the Faithful.
The Harvesters on the sea floor are feeding
All of those ruined by the depth of the sea.

Things go on and on. Even after their tree
Has splintered and fallen in the night, once
Dawn has come, the birds can do nothing but sing.

Robert Bly
The American Poetry Review
May/June 2005

Copyright © 2005 by World Poetry, Inc.
All rights reserved.
Reproduced by Poetry Daily with permission.

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