I Want to Speak Norwegian

My great-grandfather with my grandmother, brother and mother.

Like most of my poems, this one started as a freewrite.

When I was growing up, I loved hearing my grandmother talk about her Norwegian father. She couldn't stand her bullying older sisters (Tillie was the absolute worst), and she never told me much about her mother, who died young, but she adored her father. He died the same year I was born, but from my grandmother's stories, I felt like I knew this man who escorted two younger nephews to the U.S. and ended up staying here himself.

Writing from one of my own prompts in class (the assignment was to "translate" a Norwegian poem), I began facetiously with "I want to speak Norwegian" then ended up writing about this fabled family character, my great-grandfather, who I'd never met. I think most of my favorite pieces start this way. In the beginning, I have no idea where I'm headed, and, with luck, I can let the ink and creativity take the lead. If I’m even luckier, I'll end up with a poem that may have something to say to others, too. 

That’s what happened with “I Want to Speak Norwegian,” which recently earned a 3rd Honorable Mention in the Oregon Poetry Association’s “Poet’s Choice” category.

Here’s what the judge of the contest, John Sibley Williams, said about all of the six poems he selected:

“Given the wealth of incredible poems submitted to Poet’s Choice this year, selecting only six was a struggle. So many more deserve to be honored.

…All six of these profound, moving poems inspired me. They stimulated. They emphasized conversation over didacticism, allowing me to encounter them on my own terms. They all shocked me with their potent images and surprised me with their turns and transformations.

And they accomplished this via such diverse methods.”*

I’m  grateful to have my work included in this generous praise, but even more, I love that Williams acknowledges how many poems deserve to be honored.

As a creative writing teacher, I know there are legions of artists creating rich pieces that may or may not receive the attention they deserve. And yet every time my classes meet, the room hums with appreciation for the words of all the participants.

Now that the spring sessions of my classes have come to a close, I want to thank every one of my students for the depths of their creativity and courage. Their work enriches other lives, and, I hope, their own. And that, I believe, is the ultimate reward.