Taking out the Hives by Knut Ødegaard
Knut Ødegaard was born in the year the Second World War ended. He hails from the west coast of Norway, from a region renowned for its fjord and mountain country.
His first collection of poetry – Dreamer, Wanderer and Source –was published when he was just 22 years of age. Since that time he has produced a steady stream of collections and won recognition as one of Norway’s foremost poets. His work has been translated into over a dozen tongues. In the course of those long years of writing, his verse has undergone mighty sea changes; the early work is conservative and its tone high, that of his two most recent volumes harsh and exposed to touch the rawness and pain of human suffering.
Ødegaard has been a restless traveller. Iceland in particular has been a home to him, and he has translated the work of a whole series of classical and contemporary Icelandic poets. Nor has he limited himself to the genre of poetry – there have been plays, picture books and novels for teenagers too.
When one meets Knut Ødegaard one is immediately aware of a man interested in every atom of delight existence can furnish him with. He will leap effortlessly from one subject to another with all the efficiency of a Lofoten mountain goat, and his eyes flash as he embarks on a new tack, discusses a new venture, spies a new corner of an old thought. Norwegian artists of all types have a tendency to hide behind their creativity, shrinking away from any possible limelight and seeking always to fit in with the flock. This is particularly true in the strictly Lutheran valleys of the west coast. Knut Ødegaard, with his gaudy neckerchiefs and brimmed hats, breaks all the rules and cocks a snook at the conformists as he does so. He has the genes of Knut Hamsun.
Ødegaard is intensely aware of the sacred, yet he visits the darkest and often the most shocking corners in his determination to sanctify those places. He gets to the quintessential core of the Christian creed to fulfil that mission, celebrating the Christ who came to seek out the lost, the broken and the abandoned.
Knut Ødegaard was instrumental in establishing one of Norway’s most important literary events, the Bjørnson Festival. This takes place each summer in his home town of Molde, and is host to many writers both from Scandinavia and far beyond. Alongside readings and performances are hammer-and-tongs debates on the function and future of literature. Knut is almost invariably to be found there himself – if not reading then certainly debating, moving from the sublime to the skittish with a flick of his cigarette.
His first collection of poetry – Dreamer, Wanderer and Source –was published when he was just 22 years of age. Since that time he has produced a steady stream of collections and won recognition as one of Norway’s foremost poets. His work has been translated into over a dozen tongues. In the course of those long years of writing, his verse has undergone mighty sea changes; the early work is conservative and its tone high, that of his two most recent volumes harsh and exposed to touch the rawness and pain of human suffering.
Ødegaard has been a restless traveller. Iceland in particular has been a home to him, and he has translated the work of a whole series of classical and contemporary Icelandic poets. Nor has he limited himself to the genre of poetry – there have been plays, picture books and novels for teenagers too.
When one meets Knut Ødegaard one is immediately aware of a man interested in every atom of delight existence can furnish him with. He will leap effortlessly from one subject to another with all the efficiency of a Lofoten mountain goat, and his eyes flash as he embarks on a new tack, discusses a new venture, spies a new corner of an old thought. Norwegian artists of all types have a tendency to hide behind their creativity, shrinking away from any possible limelight and seeking always to fit in with the flock. This is particularly true in the strictly Lutheran valleys of the west coast. Knut Ødegaard, with his gaudy neckerchiefs and brimmed hats, breaks all the rules and cocks a snook at the conformists as he does so. He has the genes of Knut Hamsun.
Ødegaard is intensely aware of the sacred, yet he visits the darkest and often the most shocking corners in his determination to sanctify those places. He gets to the quintessential core of the Christian creed to fulfil that mission, celebrating the Christ who came to seek out the lost, the broken and the abandoned.
Knut Ødegaard was instrumental in establishing one of Norway’s most important literary events, the Bjørnson Festival. This takes place each summer in his home town of Molde, and is host to many writers both from Scandinavia and far beyond. Alongside readings and performances are hammer-and-tongs debates on the function and future of literature. Knut is almost invariably to be found there himself – if not reading then certainly debating, moving from the sublime to the skittish with a flick of his cigarette.
Page(s) 83
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