Enga mellom fjella: where from across the meadow, poems sing from mountains and molehills. |
| Opus for Oprah Our village is old; our people are ancient, flowering on solid rock still warm at the heart we touch. Touched back we flow around all obstacles, embrace each soul that's chosen us, stand up to fortune and misfortune impervious as rock, the stones that cry out in joy or weep to their melted core. We are old; our village is older; our people? Ancient as rock. © Kåre Enga 2007 [164.443] 2007-12-28 ME: Been glum. So, I got out of the house in spite of the chill. It was warmer and sunny this morning. Watched two movies. One from New Zealand about a Maori girl "whale rider", the other about a spoiled brat who goes to visit his backwoods grandmother in Korea (she is mute so the audience must watch her body movement at all times). Both movies were worth watching. Sketched a poem called "God's Arse" after reading a blog entry here at WDC. I get my inspiration wherever I can find it. Kansas: 31º and chilling. Warmer in Missoula. 1719 |