After our long trip up and down fjords for two weeks it was wonderful to relax at Margrethe’s cottage in Dops Gate Grünerløkka located in the oldest part of Oslo which was originally established around year 1000. Margrethe’s three level house is two hundred years old with tiny doors and low ceilings – watch your head Fran!
A sunny, Autumn day was just perfect for a walk in the cemetery just up the stairs from the cottage. We hear three people singing by a graveside. The graveyard has been ‘full’ since mid 19 century and many ‘notables’ are buried here including Munch and Ibsen.
Our Somali/Norwegian taxi driver tells us there is only 650,000 people living in Oslo and about 16,000 Somalis making them the largest immigrant group – welcomed here due to labour shortage. They are happy.
So now it is time to regroup before heading back north into the Arctic Circle, this time overland for another two weeks – in time for the super full moon – this time to experience Lapland…
Read more at http://www.poetry-archive.com/i/the_miner.html#DL2wihq6cQcUGAYl.99
Her griefs were the hours When my struggle was sore,-- Her joys were the powers That the climber upbore. Her home is the boundless Free ocean that seems To rock, calm and soundless, My galleon of dreams. Half hers are the glancing Creations that throng With pageant and dancing The ways of my song. My fires when they dwindle Are lit from her brand; Men see them rekindle Nor guess by whose hand. Of thanks to requite her No least thought is hers,-- And therefore I write her, Once, thanks in a verse.