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I was introduced to this poem yesterday, by someone who grew up in America. I accepted her efforts at speaking Norwegian without following the usual Norwegian habit of immediately turning to English when a foreigner speaks. Roles reversed. I had once attempted to speak English in the United States, and I knew how it hurt when my efforts weren't appreciated. We were both waiting for the dentist, discussing photographs, from the arctic Franz Joseph's Land, of some strange rock phenomena seemingly developed like huge pearls, rounded and expanded over some small grain.
Then she mentioned The Waiting Room by Elizabeth Bishop. I guess this may point to some unifying inspiration.
Sigrid Marie Refsum from Norway