Photograph of the poet - 1934

The First Sculptor

I touch gently the limestone
and I gently rub the marble with sandstone
as I move the stone I am moved
and a figure I find beneath my fingers.

She stands upright
in the eerie light
and free she stands with this love I gave
and she speaks to me
every time I worship.

Could I create such a beauty
with my dirty fingers
wet from the first drawn clay?


published in Fine Arts Discovery Magazine
Fall 1970
Shawnee Mission, Kansas

The Challenge!

The silent voice can be heard;
prayers from innocent hearts compel
the greatness of mercy forward,
encamping in the bodies of the dead,
in the souls of the living!  The Lord can
give, break open the graves and sweep the
heavens pure of darkened skies!
Oh the lies that proceed from devils:--
the shame that calls us brothers; for we
deny our image is the face of Peace!


printed in The Guild Anthology
compiled and edited by Helen Gee Woods
The Guild Quarterly Press
Idaho Falls, Idaho
1966

In the Process

This ugliness
cannot continue.
This city once sparkled.
The people rejoiced
among the people
suggesting new life,
in the process of grieving.

1997

In The Vault of the Canterbury

Who gives me this joy?
Is it you, most precious presence?
As I stood where ancient kings
are asleep? I felt such pressures
flowing from the deep.
The tombs about me swelled.
A breathing of a rare kind I felt
in my mind.  As I passed by
with both hands on the coverings of bronze.
Each one I felt, responded.
This joy came to me as I wandered by.

Just Remember

Just remember
I lived here
and I twinkle
over the shadows of the fallen.
Like sparrows
the children fall, calling
to flights of angels unseen.

1997

Good Intentions

Good intentions: spinning shadows,
falling, ever falling: like showers
of leaves upon the open faces
of those we love. Good intentions
often fail to blossom: spawning
nothing but illusory devotions;
our faithfulness in jeopardy.

1997

Along the Path

Deep are the shadows
Along the path I trod
My own markings are limited
Over this Heavenly sod.

Printed in WestWard Quarterly, Summer 2000

About the poet

Martin Kornberg
September 23, 1916 - July 18, 2000

Worker/Poet

Martin Kornberg wrote poetry, plays, and essays after full days working in New York City's garment industry as a laborer. Proud of his union membership, he was a staunch supporter of workers and their causes. He was passionate about history, ancient and American, and often alluded to the past in his works. His last wish was to have his work saved and published...thus this blog.

Poet's own biography as printed in Fine Arts Discovery FALL 1970:

Martin Kornberg was born in the Bronx in 1916, brought up in Nassau County, Long Island. He moved to Manhattan, the Bronx and Brooklyn. He began writing at nineteen, went to college in the service, studying journalism at Brooklyn College. His interests are play writing, and American History in Verse, a work in progress. Martin is married, has one son and two daughters.

Pictured below, Martin and his wife, Shirley.