The last human
being
You are welcome to stay here
and you may like to say more.
There is no reason
to turn around
to mirror nothing.
It is not the landscape
of temperature differences
that keeps you inside.
The door closes by itself,
because someone is
breathing
through the house.
The demonstration
is a cockcrow
in an empty
institution, but still
we sense the
meeting.
The crowd of people we never saw as an opportunity
now walks quietly
in empty streets.
Here there is
nothing to give in to.
I think everyone
has an idea,
that the hen farm
is a competitive state,
when the fence is
the first sensed.
Those grids the room leans up against.
Removed monstrosity, burned out engine,
turned off instruments and left banners.
Everything is visited by worms.
That is why the last human being we meet
stands
in front of the
city like it was a bush.
A scaffold of
branches lifting a mask.
Notch
Scaffolding
around the building
hides the world where everyone
moves.
The bassoon of the empty streets.
The scaffolding is not gallows
for anything else than our dreams.
I close my eyes
to avoid seeing the instrument.
A place out of itself.
Balconies emerge
over time, where the birds are
located
in the same tree.
Broken branches in running peace,
and no one knows what a disaster is.
The world is a window
away from the society
far away from a song.
Trees on balconies bloom towards a park.
I drew your words, and now you are drawing my earth.
Everyone is looking for a world as a direction in itself.
The distance of silence
I have no words
for the streets
which from time to time
give a sound.
This period of time
emerges
as it were the most lonely of times.
This silence I have experienced before
and this is my everyday life now.
I have never greeted anyone,
when someone else runs through me.
I may listen, but in reality
I am not the one you speak to.
The city has lost its pulse,
and I wear it gently.
The leaning doorway in my hands.
A box full of life
where the children
hold on to close ties.
You place yourself in front of me
as a matter of course.
Poul Lynggaard Damgaard
Poul
Lynggaard Damgaard is a Danish poet born 24th of December, 1977. He is living
in Aarhus, Denmark. He is a member of Danish Authors’ Society and since 2012 he
has been connected to the Danish Centre for Writers and Translators. His work
appears in publications and anthologies world wide. He has participated in
several International Poetry Festivals in Europe, and his poetry has been
translated to many different languages.
Poetry Books
"Boks Sepia", 2013, "Disk Habitat", 2014, " Stedets
omvendte beklædning", 2015, "Figurativ
uniform",2016, ”Vi bærer hinanden som frakker”,2019, “Rejsens
farver”,2020.
International Poetry Festival
” Ditët e Naimit”, Edition XXI, 2017+2020, Tetovë, Macedonia.
”Orpheus”, International
Festival of Poetry of Orpheus, Plovdiv, Bulgaria, Edition I, 2018
International Poetry Festival, 5th edition, 2019 in Rahovec,
Kosovo.
”StAnz
a”, Scotlands International Poetry Festival, 2020. St. Andrews,
Scotland
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