Ejlert, you're sooo late.
We sacrificed this scene without you
and have gone to the harbour.
The clouds are howling into the fiord—
the colour of dropping leaves—
don't kill yourself to meet us.
Remember the train ride
downhill through Aquavit increments
from Bergen to Oslo?
Ejlert, you're such a drunk
in a sober era—get high on words instead,
the way you did at University.
Don't meet us at love turned
to stone; we'll be inside
with the petrified man from Gomorrah.
— Hedda
The petrified man from Gomorrah
4 comments:
You've certainly inspired me to go and read some Ibsen...
Too bad they didn't sell aquavit on the train from Bergen... only Carlsberg, alas, at 45 NOK a pop...
Glad that I could motivate you, Peter.
I fear that Norway, with its sticker shock is a BYOB country. I'm certain that's what Ejlert did (as did the man in Viggeland Park). Of course, you have to be able to find a liquor store first :).
Helm.
Yeah yeah, still badmouthing us I see :)
Moan, gripe...
You liked being scandalized. I can tell.
Love this poem, truly Ibsen would have scowled slightly less, if not smiled.
... Ehem, I found the note but Helm beat me to the peom!
Well, Aisha, I was going to email you and tell you that there was a poem in that note, then the boredom of work got to me and I decided to write it myself.
As for any sticker shock...Oslo and Lofoten more than compensated for that. I wouldn't have missed the experience. Now as for cod tongues....
All right, all right, they weren't that bad :))))
Helm.
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