‘Top of My Lungs’ shows soul in detail
In her new book of poetry and artwork, Natalie Goldberg
uses intimate detail to convey soulful significance
Book review
Jacquelyn Lewis
Pulse Editor
Natalie Goldberg’s new poetry and painting collection,
“Top of My Lungs,” manages to be earthy and ethereal simul
taneously. Goldberg’s poems sparkle with the sheen of life;
they reek with the stench of being human.
Poems like “Into This World” and “I Want to Say” are dia
monds — cool and shiny, with crystalline, dream-like images
— juxtaposed with works such as “New York Body” and
“Coke and Chickens,” which explore the baser aspects of ex
istence. “Coke and Chickens” describes a Texas heat wave,
and the reader feels the heat coming off the page — the un
pleasant notion of dead chickens in the sun.
Goldberg’s paintings, displayed alongside her writings,
sometimes seem to melt into the poems; other times their
stark differences are shocking. However, the paintings are al
ways intriguing. “Self Portrait” stands alone on the last page,
and this makes it more memorable than the others.
Goldberg is able to capture a soul’s paradoxical love/hate re
lationship with life by employing a single tactic: Details, details,
details. She turns breakfast into a significant ritual. Licking an
envelope becomes earth-shattering. It is only through these de
tails that readers see what Goldberg is getting at. The grit of life,
these small, seemingly insignificant snippets are what make up
the vast, intricate painting of humanity.
The poet discusses her penchant for detail in her essay,
“How Poetry Saved My Life,” which is included in the book.
The essay explores Goldberg’s life and travels — everywhere
from Chicago to Israel — and the writing is as soulful and en
gaging as any of her poetry.
Goldberg has also written several other books, including
“Writing Down the Bones,” “Long Quiet Highway” and “Living
Color: A Writer Paints Her World.” Her work is infused with
shades of her life as a Jewish woman and student of Zen Bud
dhism living in New Mexico, but the themes remain universal.
Infinitely recommended, “Top of My Lungs” will grace
bookstore shelves in November.
Contact the Pulse editor atjacquelynlewis@dailyemerald.com.
1-^oems and P»m.ttngs
<*»• ‘Hw Pwstry My I
Kerensa made enemies but left few clear routes to finding her
Chapter 3
On a ship without
a captain.
Last week, we went back in time
and watched Sarah and Michael find
Kerensa’s goodbye notes that said
they would never see her again.
The Emerald is printing “And the
Dew is Our National Treasure” in
serial form, with an installment
every Tuesday in the Pulse Relax
section. Earlier installments can be
found at www.dailyemerald.com.
Sarah and I found no comfort in
my cold house. Most of the night we
sat against opposite ends of the sofa,
one blanket between us, and argued:
I wanted facts about events before
Kerensa’s disappearance; she gave
me mystical abstractions. At 3 p.m.,
we went outside. The cool textures
seduced us and we wandered
through silent, car-less streets.
“Clouds appear before it rains,
Sarah. A lion stalks before it
pounces. Volcanoes tremble before
erupting! Can you really tell me
there were no signs?”
“I had premonitions, Michael. Af
ter all, Kerensa and I were close. But
close only because we were differ
ent. We were as alike as the wind and
the grass. Kerensa was large and en
compassing. I’m small and supple. I
don’t know what produced her.”
I responded involuntarily: “And the
wind said to the grass, ‘I can make you
dance.’ And the grass said to the wind,
‘I can make you sing.’” My uncon
sciousness embarrassed me, and I
walked ahead quickly into the tunnel
of trees that led through the park.
Sarah stayed close. Small moon cir
cles lit the trail, and boughs creaked in
the canopy. She kept her hand on my
back, and I proceeded carefully.
“Kerensa made enemies,” I said.
“She once said to a room full of may
ors: ‘Child molesters at least have
the decency to let most victims live.
Developers always strip the inno
cent, crush them and bury the crime
beneath concrete.’”
We approached the creek, and an
imals fell silent in the brush.
“But Kerensa had a presence,
Sarah. No one would hurt her.”
We exited the park at the law school
and climbed to the top of Taylor’s Fer
ry Road. In the graveyard, phantoms
of mist drifted among the turning
maples and the headstones. The grass
threw dew at our soles until they
squeaked. “There, you see, Sarah? It’s
an omen.” I stepped around a freshly
mangled rat. “It’s rudimentary, my
dear: a squeak and a rat equals a vil
lain. She’s been murdered.”
“Oh, Michael, Michael,
Michael!” Sarah leaned her head
against my shoulder.
We crossed the Sell wood Bridge; a
“V” of geese flew overhead. “Maybe
the developers threatened her,”
Sarah suggested.
“Kerensa wouldn’t run,” I said. “If
she left, it was by choice. Which
means either she has a lover, or she
did what many people only talk
about doing, which is to suddenly
drop all responsibilities and vanish.”
“But we really don’t know,” Sarah
said. “It’s as if the wind carried her
off.” We walked past antique stores
and expensive restaurants. “The
only way to find her is to let the wind
carry us.”
“You’re saying I shouldn’t call her
friends and colleagues, shouldn’t file
a Missing Persons Report — that I
should just wait for the answer? II tell
you, Sarah, a captain arrives at his
chosen port through use of charts and
seamanship. Not by drifting.”
“But there is no chosen port,
Michael. We don’t know where
Kerensa is. The only port that’s cer
tain is the one we’re all going to in
the end.”
“More metaphysical bullshit,
Sarah!”
“How many people truly experi
ence the journey, Michael? I let my
heart lead, and it guides me to the
people who complete me, to the cir
cumstances that fulfill me.”
We arrive at Marsee’s coffee shop
just as the waitress wipes the dew
from the tables.
Peter Wright is a printer living in
Portland. He received his bachelor's
degrees from UC Berkeley, served in the
U.S. Navy, worked as a stock broker and
taught at Stanford University.
© Peter Wright, 2002. All rights reserved.
Ask Nat
continued from page 5
special treatment if he catches
you breaking the rules. This
would be unfair to the other resi
dents and could cause your honey
to lose his job. Think of it as dat
ing the manager of your apart
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mance with folks in authority
over you is just plain awkward.
I’m not saying you shouldn’t fol
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low your heart. Ask yourself if you
would date your “Noel” even if he
wasn’t your RA. Is it really him you
want, or the prestige he carries?
Also, is this guy for real, or is he
just charming to every little fresh
man girl he sees?
If you’re positive about this stud
muffin and want to begin courting,
it is essential to move. Transferring
to another hall in the same com
plex is fine, but since your RA will
be going on rounds in the whole
building, it’s best to move to anoth
er complex. After you’ve settled in
at a comfortable distance, enjoy
your straight-from-a-television
show fantasy college life. Just think
twice before chopping off all your
hair like Felicity did.
Contact the columnist at
natashachilingerian@dailyemerald.com
Her opinions do not necessarily
represent those of the Emerald. Send
questions to advice@dailyemerald.com.
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Author David Sterry
"Chicken: Self-Portrait of a Young Man for Rent"
UNIVERSITY of OREGON
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