After a night shift, waiting for a bus. For some reason, I felt like writing a poem, so I did it. Because why not? This time I put also Polish, as it is the original version.
Here’s a short poem about how much and why. I miss Norway.
It happens that recently I wrote two poems, in quite a wild act of nostalgia. They aren’t much – more like a description of a feeling you get on a sunny day. Besides the fact of their simplicity, I still wanted to share them.
A poet of workers and life on the edge of Oslo. Despite his really precocious death, at the age of 28, he left us with three volume of poems. På stengrunn (On stony ground 1925), På gjensyn (On reunion 1926), and posthumously Hverdagen (Everyday).
The author of The Birds (Fuglane) and The Ice Palace (Is-slottet) is mostly known for his novels. However, not only he wrote novels, but also multitude of poems, such us Regn i Hiroshima, and Det ror og ror, whereas I translated myself the first one.
Remeber when I wrote about finding the weird statue or stone thing on little island in Hamar? If you haven’t read that, here’s link. As I promised, I will put the translation of the poem that’s on it, and all the information that I could gather about it. Enjoy!