Unfolding the standards of the dreams

Michael Strunge

1958 - 1986

"Now I can fly"

Those are the alleged last words of danish poet Michael Strunge. 

I pass that little sign every day. 

I don't read his poems any more, but he used to mean a lot to me. I would sit in my teen bedroom, listening to troubled music, reading troubled writings by troubled heroes and expose my troubled young heart in poor, but troubled, poetry in my treasured little black china-book. I'd have candlelights. I'd smoke out of the window. Sometimes I'd sneek into the kitchen when everybody else had gone to bed and pour myself some red wine. I'd ache. 

I miss those private, secret hours, looking out into the black forestnight. But I don't miss the chaos inside of me. 

I've made a meek translation of one of his poems:

Armed with these

the words of the wings

I stand

ready to float.

I dive out

from the crystaltower

and I stretch myself out

over the horizon

with the brain in the heart of the world.

Through darkness, through light

Through glowing cities at night.

Through dreams, through emotions

Through sensing scenery in now - 

through the day and night my flight goes on

through the clock, through the sight. 


(To read it in danish, click here.) 

He was such a handsome man. He was only - the infamous - 27 years old when he jumped out of the window of the building, that I pass every day on my bike...

Love,

Ida

P.s. The post-title is one of Michaels titles.