GUNDER - a poem written by my dad

GUNDER

by Severt Score

March 20, 1984

On the Gaula River's south bank,

between Støren and Singas,

a cave so deep and dark and dank

makes you shudder as you pass.

With mouth between two wooded knolls

it winds beneath a rocky hill.

It once was home to many trolls.

Some say trolls live there still.

There three hundred years ago,

on a cold midwinter morn,

by a burning pine knot's flickering glow,

Gunder the troll was born.

Young Gunder was not pretty

and Gunder was not cute.

His face was rough and gritty

and he had a lengthy snoot.

But that young troll was healthy

and he soon became quite spry.

He learned moves that were stealthy.

He pulled pranks that were sly.

Each night he'd join his ugly friends

along the river's banks.

At farms and towns around the bends

they'd steal and play their pranks.

Just before the night was over,

before the sun lit up the sky,

they all scurried for cover

but no one told Gunder why.

The other trolls would sleep all day

in the cave so dark and deep,

but Gunder kept on with his play.

He had less need for sleep.

In the cave he only had the trolls

to pester with his pranks.

He kept it up without controls.

Of course he got no thanks.

At last they said, "We've had enough.

Gunder has to leave us

so that with all that pesky stuff

he can no longer grieve us."

One troll grabbed him by the leg

so quickly it made him shivver.

They stuffed and sealed him in a keg

which they tossed in the river.

The currents took poor Gunder

up into Trondheims Fjord.

There the sailors on a schooner

hauled the soggy keg on-board.

The captain said, "Get busy!

No time for this old junk!"

With the sailors in a tizzy,

Gunder sneaked into a trunk.

Of that trunk's destination

Gunder knew not one iota.

Via the New York Station

he was shipped to North Dakota.

He thought his new home would be fine.

He might well have been afraid.

There was a lot of sunshine.

There was very little shade.

He would have hid throughout the days

if he had only known

that when touched by sun's direct rays

many trolls will turn to stone.

Gunder, reclining happily in St. Cloud, MN

A handwritten note on the hardcopy of this poem my dad gave me reads:

". . . your great grandfather, Ole Score, came from a går called Skårvold in the Støren district, southeast of Trondheim. Your great grandmother, Sigrid Klefstad, came from Trondheim. It is part of the legend of the trolls that some of them would turn to stone if touched by the direct rays of the sun."

My dad is not only a poet, but also an artist, sculpting all sorts of creatures out of rocks, epoxy, and various other found objects. This poem is based on a true story. I know because I have had the pleasure to meet the real Gunder. When I met him in northern North Dakota, of course, he had already turned to stone, so he was unable to verbally verify the story. The mischievous twinkle in his petrified eyes, however, said it all. This poem is the explanation of how Gunder came to live with us in the Lutheran parsonage of Fairdale, ND.