Preface: Before reading a single line of his work, I knew that I would love Olav H. Hauge, the man and his poems. I had not heard of his name, misspelling it as "Oliver Holga" when Robert Bly mentioned him in his workshop "The Occasions of Poetry" on Wednesday, April 2, 2008 at Room 334 of Margaret Jacks Hall at Stanford. Bly told the 15 students of his visit to Ulvik, Norway (1979) and met the 70-year old Norwegian poet who lived in a little house with hand-made objects. His brother owned a large farm and was wealthy. But Olav was a lonesome guy. He lived his whole life on the proceeds from his 70 apple trees. He used words sparingly like a minimalist poet. He died at 85 sitting in his chair (reminding me of Petrarch who died likewise at his writing table). Bly told us that when Bodil Cappelen, the artist, first stepped into Hauge's house, she knew that she would stay there. They fell in love, and Olav Hauge had 15 years of happy married life in his old age. Bly's story about Hauge sounded like a fairy tale. I went to the Stanford stacks at Green Library and found three books by Olav Hauge, just 36 paces from my computer desk in the Classics Reading Room. I've typed some of my favorite Olav Hauge poems to share with lovers of poetry. There's a Zen quality in Hauge landscape poems which he paints with simplicity and grace. (Peter Y. Chou, April 6, 2008) |
Don't Come To Me With the Entire Truth
Don't come to me with the entire truth. ******************************* Across The Swamp
It is the roots from all the trees that have died ******************************* One Word
One word ******************************* Midwinter. Snow.
Midwinter. Snow. ******************************* You Are The Wind
I am a boat ******************************* Leaf Huts and Snow Houses
These poems don't amount
Olav H. Hauge (1908-1994), ******************************* Web Links to Olav H. Hauge
Wikipedia: Olav H. Hauge |
© Peter Y. Chou, WisdomPortal.com P.O. Box 390707, Mountain View, CA 94039 email: (4-6-2008) |