A POEM!!!!!

Yup, so here's a poem. I wrote another poem yesterday, but I don't feel like sharing it. This one feels more... done? Not sure; could just be the finality of writing it in a word doc rather than on your hand sitting in a car in the parking lot of CVS.

This a huge allegory for my past. I'm not one to look back at things fondly... I'm more of a future kind of person... but lately I've been missing things. It may be because of break and staying at home for a while, or whatever. But for some reason a bunch of Grecian and Roman art (friezes, mosaics, frescoes) all came to mind, and I envisioned myself as a mosaic: lots of little things making a much bigger thing. And yeah, it's me speaking to my past (literally, friezes are older than mosaics) and finally seeing the beauty in how crude it was in certain senses.


A Regretful Mosaic has a Monologue

Once upon a time, there was rancor.
There was an enormity of displeasure
For what you were and are.
In masochism I could sit and measure
It all in a vestibule of opportunities
I could never embrace. You were a frieze
On the wall there, a substitute for blank, or
A fresco. You were just there, just to mar.

Reliefs are so violent. I always saw them as hate
And destruction to make something. It was all unclean.
I have no room for different styles.
My taste accommodates few.

Maybe I have grown up, or maybe it was you,
But I refuse to recall when I saw beauty
In your carvings rather than a regret
That you weren’t made of tiles
Or painted when wet.
Maybe to just appreciate something I’ve never seen,
Maybe to just appreciate…
That could’ve been my duty.

I wonder which of us would last
The longest. I don’t want it to be me.
I have commitment like worms.

I can’t believe I’d ever be
On good terms
With my past.


Unpublished Material, ©2011 Cali Digre

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

Resolution

Oblivion treads many strides
Before the footprint etches in
The lawn. Too late for a protest
To fall gently on a delicate chest.
Across the field the guilt glides.
And then I excel at naming sin,
Thundering, to list them is to win.
Self-perdition I grant best.
I withhold any gracious sides.

My mind can wield its own crosier.
Absolution in familiar skies,
Thought out clean like splintered glass,
Crew cut on some dirt-baked grass,
Maybe given too much exposure.
But even I tell myself some lies,
Which but discourse can vaporize.
Before forgiveness comes to pass,
Rain always giveth closure.

Unpublished Material, ©2011 Cali Digre

Shadows on an Evening Snowbank

I am alone when it is night,
When the ground holds nothing to see.
Darkness does not open doors.
The squeaking snow my only trace,
The sound floats in its frosted space.

But I suppose the night ignores
The silhouettes that are cast free
When any small flame shows its might.
My shape distorted on the snow,
Movements betrayed in a lamppost’s glow.

Watching you is watching me,
Mistakes I make transcribed as yours.
You’ve become my shadow, when in light,
Appearing on my conscience’s shelf.
Not often I learn from myself.

Unpublished Material, ©2011 Cali Digre

DOUBLE POST!!!

Hey everyone! So in honor of my birthday, I decided to do a double post. The first poem I wrote today, recounting my very first memory. The second poem is a poem that I wrote in Spanish back in the fall of 2007, and probably my favorite poem of my mine ever. I hope you enjoy both of them!!!

~CD



First Memory

Verdant shuffle, fresh from sleep.
Day unplanned save planned caprice,
Free from obligations to keep,
Time obliging only to creep,
Not too old for inner peace,
Every quandary tends to cease
At inception. None are deep

I round the corner, put my fist
On a wall of mirrors, every shade
Reflected as to not resist
My acknowledging them in list.
But soon was a connection made
Between myself, and one thought stayed:
“This is me. I exist.”


Sin Titulo (October 2007)

De primavera hasta enero
Con su viento, cruel y frío
Eres mi alma, franco y sincero;
Eres mi amor, eres mío.

Con otoño y su color atrevido:
Vistas bellas de Dios sencillo,
Amigo querido, para mi has sido.
Eres mi amor, eres mío.

Y en el verano con su calor
Donde podemos ver los tonos del río.
No aventuraré sin tu valor;
Eres mi amor, eres mío.

Pero nunca sabrás cuanto te amo.
Con la mano de Dios yo me guío
Desde esta punta, de mis sueños te llamo:
“Eres mi amor, eres mío.”

De primavera hasta enero
Con su viento, cruel y frío
Eres mi alma, franco y sincero;
Eres mi amor, eres mío.

TRANSLATION:

From spring until January
With its wind, cruel, cold,
You are my soul, frank, sincere,
You are my love, you are mine.

Autumn with its bold colors,
Beautiful sights from a simple god,
A dear friend to me you have been,
You are my love, you are mine.

And in the summer with its heat,
Where we can see the river's tones,
I wouldn't venture without your valor,
You are my love, you are mine.

And you'll never know how much I love you.
With God's hand I guide myself
From this point, from dreams I call you:
"You are my love, you are mine."

From spring until January
With its wind, cruel, cold,
You are my soul, frank and sincere,
You are my love, you are mine.

Unpublished Material, ©2011 Cali Digre

Patchwork

The patchwork faded from the year,
With more turmoil than it should require,
The blanket whose whole form is mere
Semblances of far and here,
Lies in the coals of a cleansing dire.
It takes its complaints up with the fire.

And as the seams cut the squares all free,
Their ashes vortex through the space.
When all is done it is time for me
To fashion another from the debris
Of all the moments in their grace.
Their blessing is how they erase.

The segments can be any creed,
And vary in their size and hue.
They’re not a want, but more a need,
And to free them vindicates my greed
And lauds me with a chance anew
To show me what a year can do.

Unpublished Material, ©2010 Cali Digre

Christmas Eve

Mumbled greetings, fumbling hand,
Shaking only as a motion,
Perhaps none of them understand
Why on earth we do this band
Of formalities. A shallow ocean.

I’m sad to say that every day
Our time is but a muddled cloth
Of noise and poorly kneaded clay,
Converging to a shade of gray.
We squabble over a tasteless broth.

But in an evening what does matter
Is brought forth in a sudden white.
She does not take to heart such flatter
And feels no need to promptly shatter
A thing filled with simple delight.

Our claims can only go so far.
As if we knew none of violence,
We hold each snowflake as a star.
Their sheen makes the night popular.
The world watches her in silence.

Unpublished Material, ©2010 By Cali Digre

Ornament

A tree grew in our house one year.
It smelled of timelessness and wood.
With hands too small, that handled with fear
The golds and reds and glassy stars,
I pointed that I wanted one here,
To hang lightly on a piney hood,
To hang so that my grasp was near.
The needles left me sticky scars.

I made a green pot that day at school,
And stuck large craft stones on its rim.
In my fingers, its touch was cool,
A whole class work’s entanglement with glue.
Accomplishment. Though I was a fool
To think it could hang as a spring hymn
Given its mass. A newly learned rule.
I readjusted, and tried anew.

The fragile ones were at the top.
They mirrored my pawing with their shine.
At some point I would hear a “STOP!”
And I’d recoil in quiet shame.
Once one like a silk web chose to drop
And in its descent I caught what was mine,
Repeated, like a reflective crop,
Blinking, breathing, all the same.

We brought a tree back home today.
I’m trusted with the fragile ones.
I still like to keep them far away,
Because they’re always turning pages.
But one that I will always let stay
Is too heavy for a branch’s sons.
I weigh it in my palm to say:
“The girl on the tree never ages.”

Unpublished Material, ©2010 Cali Digre