Franklin Oliver
Noah is not a hero. Unlike many of the important figures of antiquity, Noah never seems to accomplish any great feat of strength or will. His critical act of faith, building an ark, is largely about self-preservation, not an act of altruism. It is difficult to understand Noah’s special relationship with the divine beyond recognizing that it exists. I anticipated that I would work during the RSA to explore that critical relationship yet I spent almost no time on it. That core kinship between Noah and his maker still interests me but I was moved again and again to delve into the relationships of the humans surrounding Noah, but not Noah.
Naamah, Noah’s unnamed wife, only receives attention in conversations about Genesis, never in that book itself. It felt like a fascinating challenge to view the changing world from her perspective. It was only in the RSA that I learned of her potential name. I’m nearly fifty years old yet her identity was entirely hidden from my view. Shining a light on her felt like an important way to honor her. In a different poem, I tried to go deeper into the unknown by focusing on one of Noah’s daughters in law. This woman has no identity, no story, and no history. Yet she was one of the eight people who survived the deluge. She is the mother of billions. My focus was on her status as a survivor and what surviving might cost. This poem was also a challenge or experiment of sorts since I typically write from first person perspective and through the lens of my own experience. Moving beyond that experience and into such a different one was a valuable exercise.
Similarly, Noah’s cursed son Ham has always cast a shadow on my life as a Black person said to be Ham’s descendant. I wanted to spend energy investigating Ham’s possible role in discovering his father’s naked drunkenness. I hoped to reclaim Ham as a victim of circumstance. It is, of course, Noah, who should feel the burden of shame in losing control over his faculties. Retelling the story from Ham’s point of view reveals not just his innocence but his desire to live outside the confines of the stories being told about him. Like many of us, Ham struggles to find his footing in a constantly changing world. In a seminar dramatically altered by our experience of covid, that element of Ham’s story also felt familiar and pertinent.
The Genesis of Deluge: The First Drop
There’s no more time for sleeping
The earth groans, loudly exhaling
As it recognizes the familiar, unwanted press
Of attention desperate humanity
A shaking clap of thunder
Then finally, the rain begins
Missing Anani
My best friend is drowning
Maybe already drowned
I’ll never know
This putrid boat
Drifts through Gehenna
With upward facing windows
So of course I’m not quite
Won’t be sure
I won’t ever be sure
What specifically awful fate
Befell my precious Anani
Maybe it doesn’t matter
Whether the rising water
Or a falling tree
Or her favorite shears
Took Anani away from me
She never had a chance to survive
The genocidal plot
Hatched by my father in law
And the beast who sent this storm,
The god I swore I would worship
When I took Japheth’s hand
The New Adam
Noah tells everyone
He’s the new Adam
Father of a brand new world
What he never says out loud
The reason he drinks
Is because now
There’s only one murderer on Earth
Noah tells everyone
He’s the new Adam
Noah knows he’s Cain
Forgetting My Name
It was a totally normal Thursday.
Actually, it was supposed to be a wonderful day! My dad had started making wine a few years before. This was back in the good old days, lots of folks were making wine back then so nobody thought too much about it.
Anyway, Dad got into his wine a little too heavy in the early afternoon while I was helping my mom. My brothers and I weren’t married yet so it was just us boys. I was helping mom finish cooking the lamb we were going to start eating that night. Our family was celebrating selling two goats for a great price. That’s why Dad was drinking in the first place.
So, mom asked me to make sure Dad was heading home and when I got close to his tent, I started yelling for him. Since he didn’t answer, I was ready to run back to Mom. Then I saw his water bowl reflecting the sun. His bowl was only a few cubits away from his tent. So I started running toward Dad’s tent. Of course, I thought he’d gotten sick. I mean, why else would his bowl be on the ground?
When I walked into his tent I swore (Like, I really swore!) At first, it was from relief but then it was just weird. I mean, Dad didn’t have any clothes on but he was definitely alive. Snoring like crazy but alive. It’s weird now but I remember his snoring so clearly. I also remember realizing that I needed to sin. Sinning isn’t what my I was parents taught me to do. I was gonna have to lie to my mom. Otherwise, she would be angry for the next week and none of us want Angry Mom.
So I went back to the fire and told Mom that Dad wasn’t feeling great and needed a little help. I asked where my brothers were then went to find them. Japheth was pretty close so we chatted for a couple minutes about how to help Dad out. Thank goodness Japheth was smart enough to grab Dad’s other pants. We took them with us when we went back to the tent and executed our plan to take a couple steps backwards then place the pants over Dad’s legs. He groaned a little bit but seemed asleep still. He wasn’t snoring nearly as loudly this time.
I’d already sinned by lying to Mom so I wasn’t about to do it again. Japheth agreed that we had to be honest. When we got back to her, we explained why Dad wasn’t with us.
She cursed him then started toward his tent. I’m not sure what happened when she went in but pretty soon, he was awake enough to come out and kind of apologize.
What I didn’t quite understand, what I’ll never understand is why I got blamed for seeing my naked father. I mean, it was Dad who got drunk in the middle of the day. Maybe I should have been getting wood with Japheth or helping Shem keep the animals happy. But I’d already done my chores and besides the lamb was too big. Mom couldn’t cook it by herself.
Still, my name is mocked in our whole village and I’ll probably never live down the shame I don’t feel. Even though Rivqah accepted my proposal for marriage, I know that she hesitated. I’m just grateful that soon we’ll have our own kids. They can start a new life for themselves.
Then before long, the name Ham will be a distant memory and no one will know I ever existed. Thankfully.
About Franklin Oliver
Franklin Oliver is a poet from Indianapolis. His work tends to be personal and intimate yet not autobiographical. He’s written three books of poetry: MOSAIC, Myths, and Dreams and Premonitions.