Village boy Impressions

         Goats are the most productive of animals  Growing rapidly and littering in pairs,  Triplets and even quadruplets!  And soon the house is full of goats  Braying and bleating everywhere!  If you but see them in the dry months,  You would love their shiny coats  And fine furs as they file in at dusk.  You wonder what they have been eating  Since the land is brown and bare.  But the elders of old have an adage:  “another’s hand cannot be oily enough!”  So even with the fresh green grass  Of the many rainy moons,  They are not as fair as with the dry grass  Fruits and twigs of the hot dry months.  All because they are tethered in this season,  And their food comes at the hands of us boys. 

Abelikpien! Abelikpien! Tell me, oh do tell! Where do you come from? You lie empty, dry, and desolate As many long rainless months go by Under cloudless clear skies by day And twinkling bright heavens by night. The parched harmattan blasts Leave you dry to the core And the pitiless sun roasts you Until your sands burn our feet So we wince and hurry Across your dry bed in the long months     Our fathers say you come from the 'forest' For no matter how much it rains at home, You are desolate and dry And at times with hardly a drop here You turn out in full flow Bursting at your banks. You are foaming and weltering, Chuckling and cackling downstream. And we; your worshippers, call out in glee “Hey, water has come to the river”! As we race to the hill To watch your rough waters race by   Sometimes you bring so much load Enormous trees that you uproot and carry In the mighty arms of your current Even the adults are scared

I woke up late today,  And saw a ray of light peeking  under my curtain.  But I am slow to respond to it.  I lay yawning and stretching forever.  When at last I dragged myself to the window,  The sun is frowning!  Ugly sulking clouds loom all around.  I am still hopeful of seeing his beautiful smile. At last he does not disappoint!  All the brooding clouds are driven away,  And the sun is shining happily again. “Quick! Get out before he goes into hiding” So saying I emerge for to stroll. But the air is still cold (by my reckoning). I walk with my hands in my pocket, Heading straight ahead for the park yonder. Read:  Village Boy Impressions - When the Sun Shines in Bergen The park is bare and brown. And the trees are leafless like dead wood. Ulriken and Løvstakken lie like sleeping giants, Facing each other in eternal silence. I take the path cutting through the park. An old man is coming down from the other end with his dog At the intersection

The sun is a shy fella in Bergen  Hiding behind hills and clouds,  He sneaks across the sky  Obliquely.  Afraid to show his handsome face  To the elegant ladies of the city  So the clouds weep nonstop  Bleeding rain that fall and fall  Falling from Fall to Spring  Even the Summer is not spared. Read:  Village Boy Impressions - A Walk Through the Park Sometimes the sun emerges though!  And everyone is both surprised and elated!  To see his smiley face at last.  Everything comes to life then!  Work and chores must wait I think  For homes and shops are emptied  And Parks and hills are filled!  Their seams bursting with happy smiley people  Lying, sitting, rolling, all basking in the sunlight.  For it is harvest time  One must harvest as much sunlight as possible  Before the drunken sun gets sober and shy  And run to hide again behind a cloudy curtain And the heavens hang their washing out to dry.  Bergen, City of Hills

A city on a hilltop cannot be hidden!  But this city is not on a hilltop  Bergen is at the bottom of hills  Pressed from all sides by rugged hills  That lie like  sleeping  giants.  Visitors stand in awe of them.  Beloved by the children of the city  Who walk not but run up and down  The rugged slopes all day nonstop! Read:  Village Boy Impressions - My First Snow Ah Bergen! What a city! I should never tire Of gazing at the little houses The red, yellow, white homes That litter the quiet valleys Stretching into cracks and crevices Strewn along the slopes of countless hills From whose tops countless lakes lie. A visit to Bergen is incomplete Without a hike up the seven sleeping giants Fløien the beloved and Lydderhorn Blumanen, Rudermanen, Sanvidkfjellet Løvstakken with the spectacular view And Ulriken that towers above them all! Up their slopes all day long Not one of them is ever lonely For