Ross Donlon
One hundred tanka about swimming in Hardangerfjord
In Ross Donlon's 'Writing on Wild Water', we travel with him in deep reflection through the fjord and through poems that dive in and out of Nordic folklore, history and art whilst remaining firmly in the here and now. The reader is drawn in, poem by poem, to "enter something living" and to be awed by it.
Amanda Anastasi
Poet-in-residence Monash Climate Change Communication Research Hub
Writing on Wild Water
1
You seek Hardanger?
Aerial maps can’t help you.
You must dream your way
Listen for the chant of trolls
The call of the Mountain King.* * After Grieg’s ‘Peer Gynt
2
Leaving Australia
A plane flies a north-west arc
Hong Kong to London
Then north always further north
To answer a primal call
3
Late into Bergen
The expected rain says Hi
I splash moons in cobblestones
Through the hotel’s padded cell
A welcome to Hardanger*. *Wedding Procession in Hardanger’, classic of Norwegian National Romanticism
4
And in the morning
Breakfast under chandeliers
Kaleidescope food
There is another Norway
The honesty of fjords
5
Jet lag brain fade day
Skyss station’s jigsaw maze
One bus seems to shout
My tangled tongue tries its Norsk
Ikke Ulvik, men Ålvik!* *Not Ulvik but Ålvik!
6
We swoop from the town
‘Hills to the left Fjords on the Right!’
I love this movie
Flickering/snow /broad/ black / hills/
Rain/ two islands/ a red house
7
Then Steindalsfossen *Steinsdal waterfall
Norheimsund’s silver gateway
It’s a baptism
Pass behind that veil of light
Your life will change forever
8
First LP cover
Grieg’s piano concerto
White church/ blue fjord sky
First notes a falling cadence
A waterfall’s shining keys
9
‘Hello, Folgefonn!’* *Folgefonn - glacier near Norheimsund
A snowy night cap all day
The small town seems protected
Norheimsund snug as a child
Asleep beneath a doona
10
Now the open fjord
Even hills seem to recede
Another country
Tunnels like a fairground ride
Will we reach the other side?
11
The Dream We Carry
Olav Hauge’s gift to us
(We carry so much)
Perhaps mine is this fjord
That line on the horizon
12
The bus tracks the fjord
The ‘sea road’ that used to be
Both retell stories
Will friendships form and re-form?
Will I swim into poems?
13
Prehistoric cave artists
Rock walls record their fjord world
Humans/ boats /swords /deer
Robust depictions of sex
(My poems - except the deer ;-)
14
Outside Øystese
High mound raised beside an old tree
A headland lookout
The Viking still at his watch
A boat’s wake fills the fjord
15
Autumn on Fykesund
Locals know a holy tree
It shimmers with gold
Gods don’t show themselves today
Shadows shining in sunlight
16
Modern rituals
Students race across a bridge
Childhood left behind
The spans seem to smile at them
No one sees the tide changing
17
High above the fjord
Trolltunga* longs for a voice. *The Troll’s Tongue
It’s locked in granite.
How its poem would fill the sky.
Words crying from the earth’s core.
18
We turn the corner
Poor salmon turn in circles
Ships turning like clocks
Except I’m a kangaroo * *Symbol of Qantas, Australia’s airline
Leaping over the fjords
19
On the point - Messen * *The Artists’ House
A red hive buzzing with art
It hums with new work
For all artist visitors
Hardanger waits like a gift
20
Some chase thunderstorms* *Storm chasers
Wild weather adventurers
Daring sky to fall
A tightrope adrenalin
To swim in cold fire – that’s mine
21
Utne museum
A silent movie flickers
Folk dancers circling
The past fades to black and white
The dancers never changing
22
The first chilling swim
I think of Edvard Munch’s Skrik
Mouth and eyes gasping
The water swirls with brush strokes
Was Munch a fjord ice-berger ?
23
Each day a new fjord
Wake, swim, then write about it
Both will change at night
The fjord rises with the moon
A poem can take longer
24
I dive like a knife
A human sliver of ice
My spine is a sword
Spray glistens like shining coins
A Viking throws from his hoard
25
Morning makes a path
The fjord opens its wide door
A house with no rooms
Its walls are invisible
But full of hiding places
26
Ripples are like lines
In the old book of the fjord
Tides are its chapters
The moon is water poet
Made for haiku and tanka
27
I like to backstroke
Looking at the sky’s blank page
The volumes of clouds
Swimming is like editing
Words line up to be written
28
I am my coxswain
Shout as I make each stroke
Pull back my arms
I propel a skeleton
(The figurehead looks like me)
29
My turbulent mind
Swept by high tides and wild wind
Alert for danger
Drawn too close to the sirens
I write my way to safety
30
I swim in tanka
Let water run through in lines.
Floating in myself
Ice-bright ripples light a flame
That leads me to poetry
31
And after I wake
The sea still running through me
Marine creatures call
Crying as they rise for air
Too soon to leave my dreams
32
Water etches runes
Written in pre-history
Ice-age reflections
Were arms the first thought for oars?
Was the body the first boat?
33
Poet-swimmer’s eyes
Look up at limitless sky
In between the depths
Word-thoughts slip through morning air
Catch them! Keep them! Write them down!
34
Seaweed coils and holds
Slips through fingers and toes
Starfish limbs and hair
Like dreams that won’t leave the past
We swim towards each morning
35
Swimming back to life
Brain-waves trigger reflections
Was my past like that?
The fjord becomes a passage
Towards another future
36
Blue-gold or black-grey?
(Weather is undecided)
Showers roam then stay
A ball of sun rolls from cloud
The rain washes it away
37
Murmurs in the sky
Thunder adds its voice to cloud
Waterfalls blink rain
Poems in the sky’s writing
Calligraphy of lightning
38
Trails of sky-white flame
Dragons come back to Norway
Forests grow castles
Rain opens up a curtain
Thor’s Black Metal starts the show
39
Storms whirl the water
Waterfalls glint with lightning
Wind roars like thunder
Backslapped by wave-mate funsters
Swim on you crazy poet!
40
Naked as the water
As each stone boulder and fish
As the sky shedding its mist
As the raw work of poems
As the sky arching its spine
41
Entering water
Thrilling as it is today
Is like making love
An encounter so profound
All the senses are on fire
42
Inside the fjord
(Whim of erotic fancy)
Complete immersion
The sudden gasp of pleasure
Drowning inside your lover
43
The tide-chasing-waves
Ship wreck when they reach the shore
Forced to beach this craft
Sail limbs hauled down and folded
The mind prepares a new course
44
Chafed waves clap their hands.
(I redden at the applause)
Each wind whistles, hoots and cries
It’s a morning matinee
My role is to write these poems
45
Time of high tide
The breakers run with horses
Waves all wear blinkers
Some days you can only watch
A race closed to humans
46
A fjord discotheque
High tide meets the head-wind guests
White caps thrown skywards
(All are behaving badly)
Drunk on waterfall champagne
47
Joanna’s bright cap *A U.S. dancer from Messen
A ball bouncing in the rain
Her elbows sparkle
Sequins thrown high in the air
A dancer swims in her wake
48
Jar of tea in hand
Merriment in each shiver
Ingrid grins with cold *A Dutch artist in Messen
Fjord art in her porcelain
From Ålvik to Amsterdam.
49
Mares’ tails in the wind * Cirrus clouds like horses’ tails
A brave little boat surges
Red speck in grey spray
We too take courage and dive
Three bold hearts in Sturm und Drang
50
Some art is like this
Installation by nature
But ephemeral
Water colours made by spray
The wind will soon blow away
51
Sometimes the seascape
(Rolling waves and keening birds)
Becomes a mindscape
Changing just as weather does
Brilliant days become black
52
Water is grey jade
Mirrors of a passing cloud
Wind strangely humid
A South Pacific morning
Ålvik shimmers in the heat
53
John Cage would be proud *Famous for his 4’33” composition which is completely silent.
Orchestras of birds
Playing in silence
Avian shapes like mobiles
Turning gliding then rising
54
No sun stirs the sky
The fjord is still and silent
Fifty shades of white
Another shade of shadow
I swim across the spectrum
55
Daybreak after storm
I swim through pebbled water
A view clear as glass
Rain-wet hills look closer now
The air is a telescope
56
Unnaturally still
Wind/water/sky/birds/forest
A few words intrude
Swimming and writing come hard
Even the tide is absent
57
A doona-dawn mist *For Canadian artist, Catherine Sheedy
The hills stay tucked up in bed
Some still wear nightcaps
I swim like a sea-creature
Four-legged jelly-fish squid
58
Gulls are out to play
The sky’s children, someone said * * Paul Gallico In The Snow Goose
The wind a playmate
Racing chasing playing games
Flying the kites of themselves
59
‘The Sky is better with clouds’ *For Bjorn Otto Wallevik
My old friend says
I don’t need to ask him why
A blank page sky is too Zen
Clouds make poems to edit
60
Each wave an out breath
The sea exhales on the beach
It’s restless today
I enter something living
Swim inside it with respect
61
Sun fills the window
A new morning on the screen
‘Swim before the credits!’
My shoulders revolve and reel
Old projector spinning words
62
The sun is a coin
I can spend in wild water
But then it comes back
Rising like the moon and tide
Over and over again
63
Sunrise-early dive
Swimming inside the surface
Counting every stroke
I meditate and listen
My mind tuned to silence
64
Sun flickers then rolls
A silent era movie
The past quivering
Sunshine covers the shadows
The sound track is memory
65
Are those clouds or cloaks?
Is that sound soft drumming?
Why are the trees veiled?
(Drifting rain hides the Ninja
Coming to play with our trolls)
66
Dawn brings new weather
Waves look up with interest
Water murmurs back
Tree tops stream welcome banners
Only the sun is unmoved
67
The rough wind has gone
Taking its gang of hoodlums
A breath of relief
Water is meditating
Silence spreads in rings of air
68
Sun blown in and out
The clouds are playing pinball
Gulls call from wind games
Mind rattles its empty cup
Where can I find a fifth line!
69
A day of Film Noir
The wind arrives like a truck
Trees peek through their blinds
On the water waves look furtive
(What are they doing down there?)
70
Trees shake their papers
Shout news from the street corner
The fjord makes a white sheet
Twigs hurl themselves like pencils
Too quick to reach my paper
71
High tide is so strong
A wave’s life can be followed
I feel their kinship
We are constant headstrong souls
Sailing to another shore
72
No stroke works today
My arms won’t escape my head
The waves are laughing
I float-lunge-wallow-swallow
Swim at the speed of sea-weed
73
W of wings
The W of wave crests
Both in constant play
Both in concert with the wind
Their opera and ballet
74
Stoke by careful stroke
A morning’s quest for writing
Desire baits the hook
Swimming helps to find a catch
I reel words and find a poem
75
Summer’s one hot day
Au plein air artists sunbake
Plans on holiday
Children make their sunshine games
A man whirls his kayak’s oars
76
Above the fjord
A lake of ice is melting
Birth of waterfalls
Summer can be deceptive
Water remembers winter
77
Shimmering in rain
Black hillsides etch clouds silver
Sun grey and mist blown
We swim while ice whets its knife
Words cut through to poetry
78
Sky high from the swim
The heart racing with fever
Diagnosed with Bliss
Our fjord brilliant with cold
Its prescription of cool drugs
79
Swimming in poems
Above and below water
A two-self creature
Mild mannered poet on top
Odd fish under the surface
80
When evening comes
Cold water turning my mind
Senses still in shock
Fjord becomes a dream landscape
Each floats inside the other
81
Half the water glazed
Half cracked into light splinters
Sun-work on the waves
Each one is full of crescents
Messages sent by the moon
82
In my lighthouse room
Wind rushing like water
Or is it my blood
The incoming sun glinting
My senses rise with the tide
83
Some sense is roaming
Either wild wind or water
Flowing in my room
Sleep-walker and dream-swimmer
I leave the safe world behind
84
Icy but no ice
The fjord still and glassy
Reflecting itself
Then a break in the surface
Black fins and large tail – Orca! *small whale sometime seen in Hardanger
85
From Kinsarvik to Utne
Each ferry is a puppet
Hillsides hold the strings
I swim like Pinocchio
Try to stroke like a real boy
86
The new horizon
A man on his own tightrope
Between then and now
Perhaps he’s an old acrobat
Who floated on the high tide
87
We strain to listen
The fjord opens its mouth
Speaks Eternity
Words only water can make
Speaking across centuries
88
A cruise ship sails by
Sparkling in white party lights
No one is on deck
Summer is on holiday
Somewhere in the south of France
89
The factory breathes
Sea birds float on pollution
Spiral on updrafts
A cargo boat pulls away
Black Metal Water Music*. *After Handel’s Water Music - not
90
In the fjord’s throat
My body is a capsule
Fizzing with ideas
Hardanger is a tonic
It’s written one hundred poems
91
Dreams sunk in the past
Remains of an old journey
Add weight to the dive
But swimming down to the wreck
What mysteries! What treasures!
92
Head lodged in the bow
Feet pointing towards the stern
My old body creaks
No horse, dog or woman there
To sail with me to the stars
93
Every day a tide
Today I watch it turning
The fjord revolving
The moon with its trickster games
It can hide behind itself
94
Cold water magic
Endorphins play like dolphins
Then have a party
A wild thrill of well being
Is happening inside me
95
Troll sticks out his tongue* *From Trolltunga- The Troll’s Tongue
But he does that all the time
I show him the finger
The fjord runs on forever
From Ålvik to Castlemaine
96
The tide has withdrawn
But friends come forward again
The weather looks sad
Heart on her Hardanger T
We part as ties grow stronger
97
Then the Coop, the bus *The Coop supermaket
‘Fjord to the left Hills the right’
Fykse goes backwards
It feels a favour withdrawn
But love can never be owned
98
And from outer space
Perhaps the view from the moon
There’s a man writing
No telescope can find him
Swimming in a sea of stars
99
Home in Castlemaine
Currawongs sound Norwegian
Cockatoos folk dance
Wattle blossoms shine ship lights
A fjord flows through the trees
100
Afterword
Writing a tanka
About writing a tanka
Should be dead easy
Just put thirty-one syllab-
-les into a five line poem
Thanks to Kunstnahuset Messen in Ålvik for the many residencies which enabled me to write two books of poems about a place close to my heart.
Thanks to Kristin Holst for her enthusiasm and support.
Special thanks to Bjorn Otto Wallevik, collaborator and friend, who has retold the poems in nynorsk, the form of Norwegian of Western Norway. He has also produced the sequence for an online audience from his Wallcon Studio. Using visuals, music, and natural sounds from the fjord along with a recording of me reading he has added many dimensions that enrich the poems.
September 2022