Recently, Adam was talking to someone about my blog—I was there, but not really participating—and he was saying how the only time he reads poetry is here; the other person agreed. And then Adam said to me, "You should do a blog devoted to poetry!" To which I said, "Yes, that's what I need—another way to not make money." Here's a poem that I like because, well, I'm half-Norwegian (and because I like wordplay, though the Norwegian half of me thinks that perhaps Ms. Cohen should self-moderate). It's from the January issue of Poetry.
To Whom It May Concern
by Andrea Cohen
For Harry Cobb
Soon I'll move to Norway.
If that's a bitter pill,
well, swill, swallow. I'm going,
and I won't wallow, not in Norway,
where they're so beyond
slave labor, with laws that say
a clerk must work within five
meters of a window through
which she can see a tree
and by that tree can be seen.
My mind's made up.
I will be Norwegian with Norwegian
trees. I'll be seer and be seen.
It's a scenic scene, it's
how it goes, I'm going.
Tell the top brass, if
they ask, I don't give
a damn about their asses.
But I will miss the beeches and the ashes.
It's not their fault I'm leaving.
They're only trees, and
leaving, I'm Norwegian.
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