Best Bergen Poems
Sunshine Smile one of my best friends on soup,
We started communicating within our group,
From the second month onwards,
And so we continued forwards.
On the 24th May I got
Her last email.
We communicated every day
In May.
Her last poem posted,
The 21st May,
"Children of the Earth",
She was sick
Very sick, had been into Hospital
For an operation.
And had to go in a second time
In an ambulance which took her to
Bergen in Norway.
She was terribly afraid, I have tried
To raise her so often on soup,
Phoned the Hospital and wrote them
A letter, not a sound, not a word,
Now nearly a month later,
Still no news, I know she has a
Daughter, but do not know her
Name or address, what are we to do,
I am so distressed, did not
Want to send out ripples of alarm,
But where to from here, does anyone
Have a contact in Norway who
Perhaps could go to the hospital
Or phone or speak Norwegian to them,
As they were not so forthcoming,
But to someone that speaks Norwegian
They might just respond.
Has anyone been in contact with her
in in the last four weeks or so?
We must do something,
PLEASE HELP. We must find
Anne-Lise Anderson!
Categories:
bergen, smile, sun,
Form:
Narrative
In the arctic frozen sky of the enchanting land the midnight sun
leans on the horizon briefly in bright summer and again it rises,
I didn’t know when a new day actually would have or had begun.
The frosty sky in winter night burns in flashes of aurora borealis.
The North Sea stretches the long arms through the blue fjords,
the visible heritage of the glacial deep scoop of the Pleistocene,
dissects the corrugated coastline as if sliced by the Viking sword.
I was held captive there for a long time by the magnificent scene.
To unravel the petrified mysteries of the Nordic Caledonian rocks
I crossed many dales and ridges of the geologic arc west of Bergen,
walked for days across the uninhabited islands where eagles flock.
In the cold crystal rains the shelter of the ancient caves I had taken.
On my travel I stayed a number of days in Lyderhorn, a small village
overlooking the tranquil turquoise waters of the narrow Loddefjord.
A gracious lady of the pretty house, Julia Aasen in her advanced age
gave me a furnished room at a rent that at the time I could afford.
She used to invite me for dinner at her place almost every evening,
offered me plate full of peppered boiled potato and hot fiskeboller,
slices of brown bread she baked with thick Jerlsberg cheese topping,
showed fondly the faded pictures of her late husband, a fish seller.
Time came to leave and say heart-felt ‘tusen tak’ on a freezing day.
She presented me a pair of woolen gloves she had specially knitted.
Years later when I wear these her frail touch they remotely convey,
I feel the warm heart of Julia of Norway although she has departed.
September 28, 2017.
Categories:
bergen, adventure, nature, travel,
Form:
Rhyme
From Poland hailed your Uncle Max, who in matters of manners was a bit lax,
While from France came Aunt Belle, whom I thought was really quite swell.
Next up from Russia was Cousin Boris, whom I always confused with Nephew
Morris;
And then from Germany came Aunt Gitel, whose fingers fairly flew o'er
her fiddle.
After that from Lita came Uncle Beryl, whose fistic prowess put enemies
in peril.
Of course, from Ukraine came Cousin Emma, whose soup was the crème de
la crema.
It's our duty to recall Uncle Saul, though no one knew where he came from
at all
And finally, from Prussia, poor Aunt Masha, who subsisted for years on
potatoes and kasha.
What's this? You say you don't know any of these relatives at all?
Neither their names nor those of their children can you recall?
Then furrow your brow and bestir your brain; just don't be appalled:
Uncle Max may have been from Krakow, but his skeleton was prematurely
interred by the Nazis at the death-camp of Dachau.
Cousin Emma was from a wealthy family in Vizhnitz, though her fiery
cremation was reserved for the ovens of Auschwitz.
And pretty Gitel, who grew up in the small village of Dulmen, was gunned
down in the caverns of Bergen-Belsen...
So much for our family tree.
Had grandpa not fled to America by sea,
One of those dead branches above
Would surely have been me.
HOLOCAUST MEMORIAL DAY -- 73RD ANNIVERSARY -- APRIL 12, 2018
NEVER FORGET!
Categories:
bergen, death, family, memorial, world
Form:
Rhyme
From ~ LARGE ~ to ~ small ~
K~Konstantin had travelled the world in unbeknown searching~g
A~Ariadne lost the plot and her thread a modern Sisyphus on the run~n
R~Raised in mathematical precision he questioned logic and Pi~i
M~Meandered streams of his mind with no delta or source without fill~l
A~Archimedes had drowned in the bathtub and produced wanton spill~l
C~Cartesian logic and Newton merely kindled heated debate full of lava~a
A~Acropolis Bergen Belsen Cairo Constantinople Calcutta a firm cul-de-sac~c
L~‘Leave cause and effect behind for a while on its quest for mens sana’~a
L~‘Life happens when you follow the flow squared circles teach no realm’~m
I ~In sight of the Ganges loin cloth in hand near naked emerges a star~r
N~Nirvana does not fall from the tree but intentions and actions feed Karma~a
G~‘Go resolve not hurt sentient beings and the world will be a little less sick’~k
27th April 2018
Categories:
bergen, meaningful,
Form:
Acrostic
Kindness is a redeemer that reaches us from heaven whenever needed
through human compassion or through all the helping things around
us created on earth by God. One such act of kindness touched me, filled
the cauldron of my heart when around Lyderhorn, a sleepy village lodged
on the banks of Norwegian Loddefjord I was on a field work, looking at the
Caledonian rocks. There a gracious old lady, named Julia Aasen, rented me a
room with a kitchen for she needed money as her husband, a fisherman, had
died a year before. My work was going on well until one rainy day while crossinga mossy rock ledge I lost balance and slipped a good ten feet, my backpack disappeared in a creek, an arm of the deep blue fjord below. I lost my wallet, money and cards, and with these my poise. I couldn’t pay the weekly rent nor could I buy the provisions. Finding me, a stranger, in dire need of help, Julia said I needn’t pay the room rent for a week and be her non-paying guest, give her company, although I knew how badly she needed the money I gave. Supported by her benevolent hospitality I could finish my work in time and return to Bergen, the bus ticket she purchased for me. Julia no longer lives in the hamlet by the fjord, but wherever she is now I know it can’t be but heaven, for she made me realize random kindness doesn’t come from an arbitrary source, it flows from the angelic heart of the chosen as the precious gift of God.
in dark distress dense
god’s messengers light for us
candle of kindness
August 14, 2021
Contest : Kindness
Sponsor : Regina McIntosh
Categories:
bergen, god, heaven, inspirational,
Form:
Haibun
Jingle-jangle bells
Sing-song syncopation
Ambulances hurtle down streets
of post-war Europe
Eerie bells; haunting bells
ghosts of round-ups, of Auschwitz
of Buchenwald, and Bergen-Belsen
sounds of death and doom
Shades drawn suddenly
blinds sealed tight
Breath held; pin-drop silence
'Till the peril passes
Bells tear at tortured souls
Dragnet's tentacles probing
Reaching for fresh corpses to feed
Insatiable crematoria ovens
Decades later, survivors flinch
hearing jingle-jangle bells
So, too, sons and daughters
living victims of inherited terror
June 02, 2019
Entry in 'What Makes You Flinch' contest
Sponsor: Julie Leigh Rodeheaver
Categories:
bergen, death, pain, sound,
Form:
Free verse
I must here expound of ( the Bradbury pound ) so bear with
Me 'soupers' and even share this around..How treasury notes, can any Nation re-deem, its a ladder to exit your
Countrys debt; (thats obscene!) And your treasury's know full
Well how' debt free funds can be put' into action yet the
W E F does not want them to open that book.) How your
Green back dollers are wilting; wasting away..' So i advise you to do
Your research and get your 'emails or even letters off today'
For in Britian a barrage of such soon begins.' Call on
Your representatives to (expose the treasury's sins)
rachel reeves, in the U K, is to be called to explain' why Britian is stuck in a debt trap..It will soon be given her plain.'
And the same in America, in Australia in the world.' Why not
Recognise our debt free assets.?? Its time insanity is
Adjourned.! Or better still cancelled..Like the bi-monthly
Trips to ( Basel again in switzerland ) strange? that country
Never takes a hit !! Yet most countrys reserve bosses go
There time and again.' Where they take un-recorded instructions
( on keeping countrys in schtuk ) with impunity and rapaciousness these ( un-known ?) banksters plan raids..
Boosted by war fundings hook.. Its really that grave.' Like evil
Funeral directors they appear to be moved, by such acts in
Bergen belsen or aushwitz; or many such places so cruel'
They profit from sympathy..And plan the next scheme be
It covid or monkey pox? Or there was thelat 'dark winter theme? Yet there is an antidote ( and its you; people you!!)
So get cracking with the emails..' and you'll finally break
Through.) Break through to financial stability and a world
Of less pain.?? Its all now.! Or never' (Or be happy with nothing )
Just let that sink into.' our brains.)
Categories:
bergen, appreciation, education, endurance,
Form:
Rhyme
At the end of Mercy Street
lies a forgotten wharf.
A single row boat is
moss covered.
The battered vessel is
moored and unwanted
like leprosy -
conducive to an invisible cancer.
Two splintered oars imitate antennae -
receiving distress signals
from no one.
The dinghy will not row towards God.
The boat will not sail past
Bergen-Belsen or Dachow
nor will it glide 'gainst Newton.
Mother wouldn't allow such a spectacle.
Tommy doesn't sleep on bottle caps anymore.
Tommy and Mother are content now.
(Tommy is dying)
Tommy's back is not broken
like a scarecrow -
(for he is good).
His leg is not twisted like a licorice stick -
(for he is cloaked in servile flattery).
Tommy doesn't skip like a river
nor shine like a sapphire.
Kevorkian wise and Barabbas blamed;
he grimaces -
he swallows Mother's red roses;
knowing when he sweats -
(in the afternoon funeral festivities)
he'll smell just like her.
The darkened sunlight -
(which Tommy cannot see)
throws itself between two clouds
marking a dramatic entrance!
Tommy's knees are broken yet
he still dances -
obviously dumb-founded
and matriarch approved.
Tommy hyperventilates and chokes.
Tommy eschews Mother's American beauties
and externally regurgitates the
memories he can't
(internally)
understand.
A single groove migrates
the needle into ambient static as
Tommy washes his hands.
Tommy simply washes his hands
and whistles.
(He simply washes his hands)
and whistles...
Categories:
bergen, recovery from...boat,
Form:
Free verse
INTO THE LIGHT: SAFE HAVEN, 1944
“And you that shall cross from shore to shore…are more
to me and more in my meditations, than you might suppose.”
Walt Whitman, “Crossing Brooklyn Ferry”
Thank God for you, Henry Gibbins, ship of dreams
laden with bedraggled brethren
dark and fair, tall and short, all frail-boned
and gaunt, each and every one a survivor reborn
in the wake of conscience.
Blessed, their leader, Ruth Gruber; praised, her leader,
Franklin D. Roosevelt; and you, Captain Korn
— commanding officer extraordinaire —
your kind face and outstretched arms,
the ship’s crew — their smiling faces, helpful hands;
the stalwart bulk and hallowed halls, sky-crowned decks
surrounded by sea-speckled rail —
far cry from barbed wire.
Joy, the glistening white toilets;
divine, clean fresh air that fills sunken chests, lungs
ashen from the fires of Auschwitz-Birkenau, Bergen-Belsen,
Buchenwald, Dachau, Treblinka…
And you, buoyant sea, revered for strong currents and
changing tides; and you, gulls that glide the breeze,
assuaging wounded spirit.
“Are you America?”
And you, huge dining hall bejeweled with vegetables,
cornucopia of meats, kaleidoscope of sweets
that swell shrunken bellies, smooth withered souls;
the soft pillows and ample blankets nestled in tier after tier
of bunks, the nightmares you help smother,
sweet dreams you set in motion;
talent shows, chess tournaments, movies, musicales.
“Are you America?”
“Yes, you are America — my America!
Land of the free, home of the brave!
Categories:
bergen, celebration, holocaust, remember, voyage,
Form:
Verse
Du Einsame,
in den Bergen getrotzt,
versteckt in den Wolken
getragen vom Geist des Inka,
hochgepriesen,
wie von Geisterhand
überragst du das
zerklüftete Tal des Urubamba.
Stein auf Stein,
gebaut mit großem Geschick,
geboren durch die Kraft
der Inkas.
Zufluchtstätte
der letzten Überlebenden,
verborgen vor den Augen
der Eindringlinge
aus dem so entfernten Spanien,
die Feuer und Tod brachten,
dich aber nie sahen.
Umhüllst dich noch heute
mit nebelgesponnenen Rätseln
wie neugeboren
aus tristem Gestein.
Deine Seele,
lebendig,
strahlt Erhabenes
und über deinen Mauern,
jetzt nur noch Heimstatt
der Götter,
zieht wie einst
der Kondor
seine vibrierenden Kreise.
---------------------------------------
You lonesome,
withstanding
in mountains,
hidden in clouds,
carried by the spirit of Incas,
highly praised,
as from ghostly hands
are you extending beyond
the rugged valley of the Urubamba.
Stone by stone,
built with spectacular craftmansship,
born by the power
of man.
Retreat
of the last survivors,
hidden from the eyes
of the intruders
from far away Spain,
who carried fire and death,
but never saw you.
You cover even today
in foggy-spun mystery
like newly born
from solitude stone.
Your spirit,
living,
radiates nobility
and above your murals
now only home of the Gods,
a condor is drawing as once
his vibrating circles.
------------------------------------------
Sitio solitario,
resistiendo en las montañas
escondido en las nubes
protegido por el espíritu del Inca,
egregio elogiado
como de una mano de fantasma
tu te levantas
sobre el valle hendido del Urubamba.
Piedra por piedra,
construido con gran destreza,
nacido por la fuerza
de los Incas.
Refugio
de últimos sobrevivientes,
escondido antes de los ojos
de invasores
del tan distante España,
que traeron fuego y muerte,
pero nunca te veían.
Te envuelves todavía
con enigmas hiladas por nieblas
como recién nacido
de rocas tristes.
Tu alma viva
brilla altura
y sobre tus murallas,
todavía sitio
de dioses,
gira como antiguamente
el condor
sus circulos vibrantes.
Categories:
bergen, history
Form:
Prose Poetry
Soup Contest
The day was Sunday
The time was just after noon
Church had just finished
The choir that day enchanting
You could feel the anticipation in the air
A Soup contest like no other
Everyone in the village was there
Young, old, the happy and the sad
All where hungry though
Who would be the winner?
Of the Magical Soup Festival
Who Who Indeed!!!
Seven finalists, all nervous and shaking
Will it be me, of she or she over there?
You could smell the flavors of competition
Beautiful aromas floating in the air
Now I was the judge in this contest fair
I too nervous, how to choose a winner
Did I even Dare?
Then a thought dawned, happy was I
Mondays prize, to the Chicken veggie soup
Tuesdays prize to the Cream of mushroom soup
Wednesdays prize to the Wedding broth soup
Thursday prize to the Noodle and beef soup
Fridays prize to the Bergen fish soup
Saturdays prize to the Barley and Oats Soup
Sundays prize to the Corn Chowder soup
I placed 7 beautiful first prize ribbons
On the happiest smiling faces I had ever seen
My heart this day warmed by soup and the kindness
Of all these giving cooks, proud and content
The contest over
All the village sat down
To the festival of Soup
Full stomachs and happy souls
A winning event all around!!!!
Notes: Often we create our environments and realities with our conceptions of life, For one to win, it dos not mean another has to lose, competition is great, however, kindness and compassion, are also great traits.
Categories:
bergen, encouraging, friendship, giving, introspection,
Form:
Light Verse
Inferno of Floods/ Höllenflut/ Infierno de inundaciones
Inferno of floods
After heavy rain in the mountains
Furious and unexpected
Death toll in muddy water
And nature will strike again
-----------------------------------------------
Inferno der Fluten
Nach starkem Regen in den Bergen
Wütend und unerwartet
Todesopfer in schlammigem Wasser
Die Natur wird wieder zuschlagen
-----------------------------------------------
Infierno de inundaciones
Después de lluvia pesada en las montañas
Furioso e inesperado
Víctimas en el agua fangoso
Y la naturaleza golpeará otra vez
-----------------------------------------------
Note: We had heavy flooding on August 7-8th, 2010 in Saxony
three people drowned and even more in Poland and the Czech Republic
Categories:
bergen, natural disasters
Form:
Tanka
Flüstern von den Bergen
Früher Frühling verzaubert das Tal
Eine blühende Serenade
-----------------------------------------
Whisper from the mountains
Early spring enchanting the valley
A floral serenade
-----------------------------------------
Cuchicheo de las montañas
Temprano primavera hechiza el valle
Una floreciente serenata
Categories:
bergen, nature
Form:
Haiku
Später März / Late March / Finales de marzo
Jetzt im späten März
Endlich der ersehnte Frühling
Mit bunten Blüten
Doch plötzlich neuer Schneefall
Kalter Wind aus den Bergen
Now in late March
At last the longed for spring
With colorful flowers
But suddenly new snowfall
And cold wind from the mountains
Finales de marzo
Desiada primavera
Flores coloridas
Pero luego nevada
Viento frío de montañas
Categories:
bergen, seasons
Form:
Tanka
A TOUCH OF KINDNESS
Kindness is a gift you get from heaven,
Reaches you through humans
Or through things around you
Created by God on earth.
One such act of kindness touched me
Touched me deep in my heart
When around Lyderhorn, a sleepy village
Lodged on the banks of Norwegian Loddefjord
I was on a field work looking at the Caledonian rocks.
There a gracious lady named Julia Aasen
Rented me a room with a kitchen.
She needed money for her husband,
A fisherman, had died a year ago.
My work was going on well until on one rainy day
While crossing a mossy rock ledge
I lost balance and slipped a good ten feet
My backpack disappeared in a creek,
An arm of the deep blue fjord below.
I lost my wallet, money and cards, and with them my poise.
I couldn’t pay the weekly rent nor could I buy the provisions.
Finding me, a stranger, in dire need of help
Julia said I needn’t pay the room rent for a week
And be her non-paying guest, give her company
Although I knew how badly she needed the money I gave.
Supported by her hospitality I could finish my work on time
And return to Bergen on a bus ticket she purchased for me.
Julia no longer lives in the hamlet by the fjord
But wherever she is now
I know it can’t be but heaven
For she made me realize
Random kindness doesn’t come
From a random person
It flows from a special heart
Where an angel resides.
March 4, 2018.
Categories:
bergen, angel, heaven, how i
Form:
Free verse