A hymn to Life

Who am I?
Where is my place in this enormous universe?
Why do people suffer because of so many things in their lives, when they have a huge universe of beauty and wonders at their disposal?
When we think about the universe as a never-ending story and the whole history of mankind, then our lives will be over in a flash…
So how do we choose to live our lives?
How will we invest our energy, this brief time we are allowed to stay on this planet?
Take a moment and think about it…
Our life and our worries is just a tiny speck of dust on the surface of the earth…


So I will lift my head and enjoy life, because it is the greatest gift of all!
"Smile, and life will smile back at me"
"Think positive, because such thoughts are contagious"
"Reach out and give a helping hand to those who can't see through tearful eyes"
" I'm so grateful for the miracle of being a mom "

Yes, it's so good to be alive!

In response to "The Moons of Jupiter"

THE BLUR OF LIFE

What is a story? A lot of words in combination -
A history of one’s life, a story of somewhere, a story of relationships –

The dilemma of relations. Unity, belonging, closeness, values.
Social capital –
Interaction. Communication.
Distance.

Identity, identification. Memories, which sometimes are a kind of blur to me.
But in the end, it doesn’t really matter –


In response to “The Moons of Jupiter” by Solveig

Heroes

The old man is a hero. At first he struggles days and nights to kill the giant marlin after waiting a long time to get a fish. Then he has to fight against the sharks who want to eat the marlin. He is alone in the small boat with little food and eqipment. Still he keeps his head clear and do the right things.
After the pilot Chesley Sullenberger landed the aeroplane on the river between the skyscrapers of New York City, he got the price "Key to the city" and the mayor referred to Hemingway who says that a hero is a man who keeps his mind clear under pressure and do the right things.
They both are heroes.
In response to "The old man and the sea" by Ernest Hemingway.

After the war

I'm freezing cold and empty
oh, the days before you came
now my memories are all back again
I try to pass through the gate of sleep

the stars changing into darkness
the sleepless eyes
inside my head lives an old scene
I watch the storm go through my mind

today I offer all myself to this
I tried to make it go away
I've lost track of logial thinking
... I shoot myself
and my blood tells all

now it is the most devine
freed from my thoughts
my words are cold
my scars remind me
the past is real

I tried...

We Send No Other Message

We listen to old chants and learn our mother tongue
Our culture, our love, our respect for Mother Earth
The land of memories is gone but not forgotten
We will not feel the white man's shame
We are proud, we are strong, we will endure
We send no other message, now let us live in peace


This is in response to "Heritage" by Linda Hogan.
Susan

"Fatty"

I sat at the dinning room table waiting for my mother to return from the doctor's visit. She had a lump on the side of her cheek, it was more under her right cheek as my mother would have corrected me. Tomato tomato it's all the same. I was anxious to hear what the doctor's diagnosis was when she arrived. She came into the dinning room with a scowl on her face, "Well it's cancer are you happy?" Typical mother never knew what to say in times like this. Of course it wasn't my fault she had cancer she smoked one to two packs of cigarettes a day. None the less it was my fault and she had her illogical reasons as to why. All through my school yers she had her nasty comments, "You'll never finish school, you'll end being a dish washer." Her snide remarks are what made me leave home at the age of eighteen. As soon as I finished High School I moved away, got a good job and a nice apartment. It was the wrong job for me, it didn't pay good enough and the apartment was on the wrong side of town, there wasn't much validation or commendation from her. The older I got the easier it was to ignore her rude remarks, I'd come to the conclussion that it was just her way of showing she cared and wanting the best for me.

My mother went into the hospital to have her tumor removed. When she came out of surgery and had recovered enough to talk she immediately started dealing out all of her possesions as if she would be dying in the next few days. The house, the car, the furniture, beds, she had everything earmarked for each of her four daughters. She even had small nicknacks that were to go to grand kids and other relatives. She gave me the pleasure of giving me her ten pound fat cat named "Fatty". Thanks mom. She said I moved around too much and this way, by giving me the cat, I would have to find a good man not one of my bar romances and settle down in one place. Every man was bar trash to her, the only place to meet a good man was in church, funny we weren't religious and didn't attend any church. Well she did used to send us four sisters, heathens she called us, to bible school every Sunday. If that counts as going to church. The bible school lasted only a short while, the pastor required that the parents attend the sermon while the children were attending bible school and that was the end of that. No church was going to tell my mother what to do.
My mother did die. The cancer spread rapidly and attacked her main veins leading to her brain. Typical mother she told the doctor "don't save me". The walls of the veins were eaten up by the cancer and they collapsed and then exploded. She actually bled to death.

Fatty became known as Skinny due to his change in diet. I'm sure he wasn't happy about having to eat cat food, but I wasn't going to feed him expensive cans of tuna or raw chicken breast. My mother used to lovingly chop up small bits of the raw chicken so he could easily eat them and warm up the tuna because her Fatty didn't like cold food.
Maybe, just maybe I should have been her cat.

This story is in response to Alice Munro's "The Moon's of Jupiter".

Susan

How to Live

On a little blue ball there is a woman
longing, waiting restlessly
feeling unsatisfaction
She wants to live life perfectly

So tired of all the stress
But there are certain expectations
Aims that she has to reach for
If not, there'll be no celebrations

And the children that she has got
Oh, how she loves them all
They deserve all the best there is
but the presents are always too small

The woman struggles day by day
waiting, longing, wondering
how to live this life
How can she improve to become
a succesful mother and wife?

The children miss their mother's presence
they're not as happy as they seem
But wanting perfection that noone knows of
the woman is lost in her dream

In response to Keith Douglas' poem "How to Kill".

How to Live

Months of darkness

then came light

Screaming, loving, living

I called, You answered: I am love

I went in light to places of darkness

Time went, and time came

Living, loving, screaming

Darkness

Earth to earth

Then light

Proving: Love and faith, above all

In Response to: How to Kill

Sorrow

The war took my child from me

It took him like the wind catches a leaf

Like it was the most natural thing in the world

The war took my child from me

With sorrow I sit

watching his photo

My beautiful son was taken from me

His eyes, his nose, his hair

The war took my child from me

In response to Keith Douglas' How to kill.

ghost soldier

as seconds go by
I'm turning into a man
the ball I was so familiar with
fitting just right in a boy's hand
has now turned into a grenade

I see the dead man
right before me
breathing, still
now
turning cold, fading
red around the hole in his chest
hate in my heart, revenge in my mind

easy
another ghost
who am I
frail
this skin is dry and pale
I mock at my lousy God
a shadow is a man
when death approaches..

In response to "How to Kill" by Keith Douglas

Why do we live?

Some say life is great,
they can not have had any struggles.
Some say life is easy,
we can't see the world through the same eyes.

Some think life is a game,
if that's true I'm losing.
Joy and happiness are hidden in the shadow of wars and diseases.
Why do we all hold on to life when it all comes down to death?

In response to Keith Douglas "How to Kill"

KILLING...

You can kill a man with one shot.
But strong is the one that shoots not.
Because he can see
that all – you and me –
together can manage a lot .

Killing can all do without!
It just causes fear, tears and doubt.
I have lost some faith
with humans at late
‘cause of wars that the news tells about.

In response to “How to Kill” – Keith Douglas

Next year's sport

Next year's sport
This year I didn't have time
This year I didn't have money
This year the dogs were too old and too young
This year

Next year I will have more time
Next year I will have money
Next year I will have better dogs

Dogmushing - Next year's sport

In response to Goalie

Goalie

In response to Rudy Thaubergers "Goalie"

We went to practice
We used to have fun
It was all about playing
We didn’t care
As long as we had fun

Time has changed
The fun is over
You cared too much
They said you had the courage
And you agreed

Today it’s more critical
It’s all about blood and fear
I can see the fear in your eyes
The fun is over
I wish we could start over

We used to have fun…

Vulnerable

In response to Rudy Thauberger's "Goalie".

To see him succeed
A warm, secure feeling
To see happiness in that face
What more could life bring?

To see his heart bleed
when he's been exposed to unfairness
A feeling og anger, despair and fear
which makes you realize
With this kind of love
comes a lot of pain

Responding to the poem Heritage

From my mother, I got brown eyes and dark hair,
like a lot of people from Western Norway.
Also the importance of the family supporting each other.

From my father, I got the pleasure of making things myself.
When he was young he sewed a tent, and he was the one who
mended zips and buttons.
He travelled all over Norway, and he visited most countries around
the Mediterranian. - I travelled around the world.
He also taught me about the stars and planets. - When nights grow
dark in the autumn I greet them like old friends. When I see Sirius
I know he is with me.

My grandmothers were wonderful persons in every aspect.
Grandfathers were more distant, like old men were in those days.
But I am a teacher, like one of them.

Responding to the poem "Heritage"

From my mother I have got love and good health. I have learned that working is good for everybody, and I have learned to take care of people.
She also taught me to cook, to make cakes and be fond of working in the garden. She taught me and my sister that education is important. When she was young, she was clever at school, but with ten children, she didn`t get an education. She has missed that.

From my father, the fisherman, I also learned to take care of people. He made me fond of fishing and seabirds. He liked to tell stories, and I liked to listen. Every day after work I lay down beside him, and he read to me from the newspaper. Now he is dead and I miss him.

I have only one sister, and from her I have learned that it is important to take care of the family and be together as much as we can.

A mothers love

From becoming and from being a mother,
I've learned what love is. I think.

To fall in love, to have a crash, in that first sight.
A love that does not bleach, but grows and grows.
A kaleidoscope of love.

My mother told me about the day I was born.
An early, clear and cold autumn morning.
The low sun, the colours of the autumn were sparkling.
I could both hear and feel her love when she told me.

Yesterday I got an sms from my daughter, who has just joined the army.
She wanted me to write down and send her a lullaby,
the one I used to sing for her when she was a little girl.
I felt that humble love.

Today I got an sms from my son, who studies physiotherapy in Denmark.
He had got the best result on his exam,
and was going to celebrate with a party.
I felt that proud overwhelming love.

And when I arrive home, my youngest child, in her best puberty,
screams that she won't go to her grandparents for dinner. She hates it!
I feel that tender and powerless love.

A response to My heritage

From my father I have learned to be fond of spending time out in nature.
I remember the many Sundays he took us out in the forests.
He made me feel the joy when I ran down the hills the wind blowing in my hair.
He introduced me to the pleasure sitting by the fire after a long skiing trip reading a good book.
He also taught me not to promise more than I can fulfil.

My mother taught me to appreciate good paintings.
She taught me about colours and compositions and the pleasure of making my own things.
From her I have learned to follow my intentions.
When we were young she read a lot of stories.
She took us into the magic of books.
She told us about a Father we could turn to with our joys and sorrows,
not a strict Father with at lot of rules and prohibitons but a mild and including Father.
From my oldest sister I have learned to be honest.
She was always plainspoken.
My grandmother was a good listener.
We felt that she always had time for us.
I hope my grandchildren can say that about me some time.
I remember when we were togeher in the summers in their cabin. I can still feel the smell of the food she made for us.
From my brother and sisters I have learned what gift a big family is.
The family is always there for you even though the distance is far.
That makes me feel rich.

Goalie

In response to Rudy Thaubergers "Goalie"

We used to hang out.
We uset to talk.
But now I just want to hide in the dark.

I used to have fun.
I used to love the game.
But now there's just agony and now there's just pain.

You used to laugh.
You used to be proud.
But no you won't even shout my name out loud.

I wish I could turn back time...

My heritage

Responding to the poem "My heritage"by Linda Horgan

From my mother the pleasure of creating
- knitting,embroidering and weaving.

But also her curiosity. And her way of controlling everything and everyone. All the time.

From my father,the sailor, the interest for travelling. To feel the joy of visiting foreign countries, the athmosphere, the smells and the tastes.
To meet everyone with respect and kindness.
The ability to associate with different people.

My grandfather told me the importance of education.
The interest for literature.
To always try to do my best in all situations.

From my grandmother her interest for cooking. Gathering family and friends around the table makes me feel satisfied and happy.
And her words if the day had been grey: "Tomorrow is a new day!"

Responding to the poem "Heritage"

From my family I've learned to care for traditions.
The smell in the kitchen when my mother
makes cakes for Christmas,
the same way her mother did.
My grandmother's recipes neatly written
on paper now yellow from age.

Gathering round a dinner table,
not only because we're hungry, but to care for family and friends.
My father used to tell stories from old times, remembering everything in detail.
He wanted us to listen and understand the way they lived.
I learned hospitality and an interest in history.

My grandfather stout and mild,
told me and my sister to eat everything on our dinner plate, leaving it almost clean.
We earned 50 cent that day and rushed out to buy candies.
I learned respect.

My father gave me a tool box when I left home.
A hammer and a screw driver can be useful when your miles away.
I learned independence and trust.

Written by Sissel

To my family in Vietnam!

I write to tell you about my life in the states. Everything
Is so different here, the food, the houses, the language and
the people. But I shouldn’t complain, I have a beautiful
daughter and a lovely husband.
It’s hard to fit in here when you’re from
a different race; one main difficulty is their language,
so I have to use a lot of body language when I express myself.
I just wanted to say that I miss you a lot and I’m looking
forward to see you again. I wish I could come home soon,
but I have to think of my precious daughter and to give her
the life I never got. I'll see you soon. Hugs and kisses
(In response to Elizabeth Gordons “on the other side of the war: A story”)

Heritage

From my mother I got my courage.
The courage to stand out.
The courage to walk around with my head lifted high.


From my grandmother I have inherited my believes.
The believes that helps me see the best in every.
The believe that helps me get up in the mornings.


From my grandfather I got my appreciation for nature.
The appreciation that makes me glad when I’m outside.
The appreciation of all natures wonders.


From my sister I have my lovely nephew.
A nephew that gives me many great laughs.
A nephew that shows me how important family is to me.

I’m proud of my heritages! (In response to Linda Hogans "Heritage")

Hope

Dear mum!

I’m sending you this letter from my house on wheels in America. The way over here was long, but I can’t complain, I got away from the war with my husband and our daughter. It’s great to feel safe, but it would have been much easier if you all would have been here with me. I have experienced some difficulties here in America, and the hardest thing is that I don’t understand the language. I don’t even understand my own husband, and he gives me an odd look when I serve him dinner, but I don’t understand why. Maybe he is just picky? I miss you a lot, but I want you to know that we are doing fine! Hope you are okay, and I hope you can come and visit us sometime… maybe when we don’t live in a trailer. (In respons to Elizabeth Gordons "on the other side of the war: A story")

Love Lahiri

My Heritage by Lill Tove

From my mother I got my ice blue eyes
and her big smile, she taught me how
to take care of my self and everyone
around me. From my father I got the strength
of living by myself and how to manage money.
From my stepmother I learned how to control horses
and understand their way of thinking. They all learned me
how to take care of all the good memories and learn from
the bad ones. I guess this is part of life. (In response
To Linda Hogan’s poem “Heritage”)

A funny recipe.

Fish and chips or rice and curry
- don’t try to make this if you are in a hurry!
But if you still do, then remember this..
-You may end up with something that has a major “twist”!

The fish is supposed to be fried in hot oil,
as well as the potatoes, just let it sizzle and boil.
If you misunderstand the whole idea
You may end up with something that’s very rear...

Rice and curry should speak for itself.
But by all means, if you don’t follow the cookbook on the shelf..
I’ll guess the people at dinner is in for a big surprise,
When nothing smell exactly nice ,
- and lots of questions will arise !

(In response to E. Gordon’s ”On the Other Side of the War: A Story")

Dear Sahulu!

How are you? How is life back in Vietnam?
I am not so good here in America. I don't like it here, and i miss you! Everything is so unfamiliar, I don't know anybody here, I've got no one to talk to and not much to do. My only light these days is my little girl, Suri, and my husband. I can't believe he still puts up with me after all the mistakes I've made because I do not always understand him. He is really kind to me, and fortunately he never gets mad when I have done something wrong. Even though we do not always understand each other, we love one another and this love is what sustains me when I feel sad and alone. At times I dream of coming home, of being with people of my own kind.. But then I think of Suri and that I have to give her a good life together with her father here, in the land where all dreams can come true. I don't think mine will though, but maybe for my little girl life will be better and she might learn to love this country in all the ways I don't. We will have to wait and see what fate has in store for us in the future, maybe I will learn to adapt and feel like I fit in here eventually. I do hope so. I will write to you again soon! Until then; hugs and kisses from me.
(In response to Elizabeth Gordons On the other side of the war: A story)

My life in the states.

To my family at home, I write to tell you a bit about my life in the states.
Everything here is so different from home, the food is different, the houses, the cars and the people. Eventhough life with my baby and husband is good, everything else is not good. I can't make the food correct, and my husband doesn't know what to do or say. We don't fit in, we don't belong here. But I guess everything will be better after a while. At least I hope so.
(In response to Elizabeth Gordons On the other side of the war: A story)

Note to self: Do not peel the pinto beans!

Round pieces of meat
frying in the pan.
Not to be mistaken for pancakes
and must not be served with jam.

Round pieces of meat
coming from the cow.
The meat is already frozen
since the cows live outside, in the snow.

We don`t eat rice
and you know what this means:
You are not supposed to peel the pinto beans.

In response to E. Gordon’s ”On the Other Side of the War: A Story"

My own Heritage

Based on the poem by; Linda Hogan.

From my mother, who still watches every step I make,
I take on her good moods
and smiles that reach my eyes.
This gives me strength to fight my way through life.
“ Smile, and life will smile back at you”.

From my father I take on his sensitivity
and caring for others.
Don’t give in no matter how big a challenge you face…
There is no problem that can’t be solved.
“If you fail once, then try again”.

And grandma’ who passed away a long time ago,
but still is by my side every day, whispering in my ear..
She has made me believe that there is some good in all people,
and that love makes the ones I care about bloom…
“Positive thoughts are contagious”…

From my family I have learned that life can be a big challenge.
But by remembering their words of wisdom I should be able to
open the right doors to find myself a wonderful life… and I have.
G. ( In response to Linda Hogan’s poem “Heritage”)

My Heritage by Solveig

From my father, his cradle,
made a hundred years ago.

My mother gave me
an eye for snowflakes.

My grandmothers took me
in their lap
and sang old chants and nursery rhymes.
From my grandfather,
who I never met, I learned to love literature.
My second grandfather
taught me to cycle, and he gave me a pocket knife.

They all taught me to take care of
memories.
What is this all about?
Its life, isn’t it?


(In response to Linda Hogan’s “Heritage”.)

Linda Hogan's, "Heritage"

I'm sure some of you have written interesting texts in response to that poem. If you submit them here, you will have completed 1/4th of your creative writing requirement! I'm looking forward to reading some of them! Phoebe

English Course Spring 2009

Students taking this course will submit at least 4 short pieces of creative writing and will comment on at least 4 pieces of creative writing submitted by their classmates. At least 4 of the pieces submitted should be in response to the literary texts covered in the course. At the end of each piece submitted, students will also note the title of the text that the piece was written in response to or that inspired it. For example: Written in response to Alan Sillitoe's short story, "Uncle Ernest."