Whoops/ Triple threat

So Wednesday night I had an excuse to not post. I was in a hotel with no internet, but I dutifully wrote my poem anyway. We were staying in a valley, and I watched a mountain darken as the sun went down. This is also one of the first poems I've written in a while with a very strict meter somewhat like some of the old romantic poetry. I've been kind of caught up in romanticism while floating down fjords and going through mountains. Because it's contagious, seriously. You get around nature too long, you start really worshipping it.

Moral: Big or small, the flighty and cowardly have no power.

7/13

The mountains have so few of friends,
For when the midnight here descends
All that they leave are silhouettes.
Who would place hope in any stone
That cannot brave the dark alone?
And so they crumble to their shell.
Like lonely trees that lift their height,
So much they paint against the light.
So much have they in their regrets,
So much their traces have to tell.

Since being in Bergen, I've been busy and going crazy with Grieg. I've always really liked his music, and my favorite piece of his is called "Våren" or "Last Spring." I've always wanted to write a poem to go along with the music, not so much as text but as a supplementary piece. So that's what I did.

Moral: Memories are eternal

7/14

The green is buried below.
But I will always remember
The earth’s hello
Last spring.

Birds deep in the summer sky.
But I will always remember
Their very first cry
Last spring.

I will always remember
Last spring.

And finally, I've tried my hand at writing something a little lighter. Often times I get so wrapped up in my poetry that I don't always inject humor into it. So that's what I'm doing. Just to make sure I still have a sense of humor. Bergen is a lovely but very touristy city, so I've been laughing at the gimmicky/ kitschy things they have for sale that really aren't worth it.

Moral: just because you can, doesn't mean you should.


7/15

A Norwegian flag hat,
An “I heart Bergen” cup,
A magnet with a troll,
You know, the stuff that
Really makes you whole.

I’m not gonna lie.
This truth was thought up
By many, many scholars:
“My friend, you can buy
Anything with dollars.”

Unpublished Material, ©2011 Cali Digre

The twelfth poem

I've been spending a lot of time at Sognsvannen, a lake on the north side of Oslo where I've started running every other day. About 5/6ths of the way through my run, I always take my sneakers and socks off and dip my feet in the water on this beach. Today I watched a duck going about its business, eating and stuff, before it turned to me, saw me, and flew off. It made a very lovely wake because the water was so still, which inspired this structure.

Moral: There is always someone above you and below you. You are fearful and to be feared.

The duck swam.

Its feet made waves
In a perforated triangle.

And the duck spoke: “I am
A master now. My choice saves
This certain grass from being eaten.

“But oh, I am so far from the highest view.
The danger I feel! Often I fear a wolf will mangle
Me by my neck. But, even then, a wolf can be beaten.
By you.”

Unpublished Material ©2011 Cali Digre

Poem x 4

Nothing all that exciting happened today, though I did have to read Fuglane (The Birds) for class, where (surprise) birds were a major motif. This incident has happened a lot in my life: see birds on street, chilling, hopping under the shadows. Car comes, they do a weird swoop thing, catch a current, and leave. There are a lot of birds here in Norway. Yay birds!

Moral: departure can be beautiful

The birds float on the sidewalk
Like leaves, unstuck from the ground.
They are too light for silence,
Too quiet for the sunshine.

But they are keen on a violence
Approaching them. So they talk,
Decide which path they have found
Has the most meandering line

And then they depart.
You could almost call it art.

Unpublished Material, ©2011 Cali Digre

So... It's snowing again.

So much for the last post... haha. This would happen on April 1st too. Thanks, Mother Nature.



Buds recede and browns prevail.
Back to what resisted switching
Climates. Back to dry leaves twitching.
Back to what is four months stale,
Flora scoffs at spring’s first fail.

Early-rising birch trees sweep
To get the new snow off the old.
They feel betrayal. They were told
That their eagerness could keep.
But now they must go back to sleep.

In flake’s pace green decays to sooty
Colors softened, shades of gray,
Thoughts that spring was here to stay.
Outraged guile may be my duty,
But how could I ever hate such beauty?

Unpublished Material, ©2011 Cali Digre

CRAZY WEEK

So... finals are just around the corner and I have been up to my throat in work. Friday will be an easier day to post, so I will probably post two poems to atone for this. But for now, here is a poem I wrote in the summer the morning after I graduated. I had been up all night so I figured I might as well watch the sunrise. That precipitated two poems. This is the first one. Maybe I'll post part two later. Enjoy!

~CD


Parables of Dawn (Part I) (June 9, 2010)

The truth is gold, but not in touch,
For all the leaves are painted such.
Their beauty is not such a thing
That calls for trite perfection.
Rather, in the clear reflection,
Perfect sight of all their flaws,
Thought-birds ‘round my iris fling,
Mumbling all about the laws.

And yet the sun illuminates
These concrete little flutter-fates,
So that I see their cellulose
In all their mold and wear.
I ask, “What leaves did once hang there
Before the breeze whisked them apart,
In conduct less than grandiose,
With little whim, and little heart?”

What matters is not where they lie
But how they do bask in the sky,
Whirling by the eyes of Gold.
Their shadows crawl along the grass,
Though they themselves don’t ever pass
In a different, alien shape.
Their inverses never hold
Much more than a breezy cape.

As my eyes flutter in perplex
To make sense of all these subjects,
All that shifts here is their pose.
The leaves retain their stiff aplomb,
But darkness quivers on my palm,
As I stir little on the lawn.
In this vantage that I chose,
I learn lessons from the dawn.

Unpublished Material, ©2011 Cali Digre

Blackbird

dear blackbird
on the Green
what I’ve heard
what I’ve seen

breakfast sandwich
that you stole
with beaked stitch
and eaten hole

your feathers loose
january
eyes and puce
tongue you carry

they all watch me
as if to say
“this was my fee
now go away”

but my approach
still gives you fear
and I encroach
you disappear

you make no sound
you turn not back
and for the ground
feathered black

Unpublished Material, ©2011 by Cali Digre