We meet.Poet of the world.Poul Lynggaard Damgaard.Denmark.Встречаем поэта мира Poul Damgaard. Дания

Poul Lynggaard Damgaard, Denmark
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.
Poul Lynggaard Damgaard, Дания
Poul Lynggaard Damgaard - датский поэт, родился 24 декабря 1977 года. Проживает в г. Орхус, Дания. Он член датского Авторского общества и с 2012 г. связан с Датским центром писателей и Переводчиков. Его работы имеются в публикациях и антологиях по всему миру. У него - шесть собственных авторских книг, он участвовал в нескольких международных поэтических Фестивалях в Европе, его стихи были переведены на множество языков.

A single drop is a flock of birds.
There is a sun in all information that never condenses.
A crowd divided into parts we don’t understand,
and the glow of a street we will never hold between our hands.
When the street turns into a new street, it becomes a light I don’t know.
I don’t belong to this place, and you tell everyone at an open square,
that places are each other’s mirrors. The structures are changing.
Open spaces are confused with splinters. Clear pearls in drifting time
and damp air. Know the other mirror before you know your own.
You want to participate, but you do not know yet in which room.
The streets conceal something, and it’s an unknown identity.
In its strangeness, it can’t explain our meeting.
Ray of life close to ourselves.

I leave the dream for a long time.
Up against a house, I don’t want to lose.
I can’t tell the street from the land.
Between fingers, I get to know a parish.

Wires between high voltage masts in the sleep of pigeons, when they call each other from opposite sides of what I perceive as place. Environments are crossed in an exchange of free systems next to a country. Surroundings that diverge from the motion. You don’t expect to meet anyone, and that’s how the outermost point is sensed. Threads of straws in the understanding and views in the wind. What can’t be said against the treetops disappears in a foreign sound. Insects gather in a natural corner of the sky. Without things a different direction for the encircled area. The landscape distinguishes between the mind and open space.

Now we name the sea.
There is a way for the searching one.
Now we name the land.
There is a way for the lost one.
Now we name a stranger
There is a way for the beginning one.
Now we name a friend.
There is a way for the listening one.

What all windows show is the wind beside itself.

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