E D I T I O N H O L C K PRESENTS

Holck made his remarkable debut as a poet, only 16 years old,  and from one day to the other became Denmarks most talented and reputated poet in his generation. A child prodigy from the age of 11 in painting, poetry and music.

The collection of Poems was called:  " We Must Be Like Everything "

The Press wrote:

     " With a diction, that have roots in the

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danish late symbolistic tradition - that will say Ole Sarvig and Poul Borum, Henrik S. Holck places himself far away from this years other debuts.

     We must be like everything is an impressing debut, stylistically very  competent and with a musicality, which as a compositorical princip is very rare.  "

                                                                                              Mads Ploug

 

  "  A   S T A R S T A T E

     A 16-years old lyrical debutant with a fantastic sure, competent, beautifull and mature book, a rare and totally extraordinary poetical talent.

     Henrik S. Holck uses big words, expensive words  "poetical" words, that young poets not since Henrik Nordbrandt have dared to take in their vocabulary.

     This utmost impressing book. Holck finds a deeper meaning, and he makes the world to shine."

                                                                                               Poul Borum

                                                                                               Ekstra Bladet

  

 

Read some of the poems here:

 

 

QUITE SILENT                                                               WE SHAPE  OUR LIVES OURSELVES

 

                                                                                                                                                                      

everything is quite silent                                                  we  make our lives

the light is silent                                                               ourselves

you and I are quite silent                                                  that´s how it is

the day is silent

the eyes                                                                              to live

the hands                                                                            is something

and the light                                                                       we ourselves aim at

the black flash of the birds

over the grey clouds                                                          we can swallow a stone

quite quite silent                                                                and increase our weight

and a drizzling rain                                                            if we wish

you and I are quite silent

life is quite quite silent

and the pulse                                                                      that´s the way it is

the black flash of the birds                                                with us the living

over the grey clouds                                                          who are able

silent                                                                                   to extend our bounderies

silent like dust

silent like silence                                                               if we think the flowers

everything is quite silent                                                   have a deeper meaning

the eyes                                                                              they have a deeper meaning

the hands

and the light                                                                       and if the stones are to grey

                                                                                           we pour water over them                    

                                                                                           

                                                                                            that´s the way it is

                                                                                            and that´s the way it is not

                                                                                            that´s up to you

                                                                                            to decide

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                                                    BUT PART OF THE WAY

 

                                                    I go but part of the way

                                                    say some of the words

                                                    but do not say enough

 

                                                    I show you only a little of my blood

                                                    and only a little of the wasted millenia of my short life

                                                    I am here only because I do not believe in it

                                                    I am here only because I am insufficient

                                                    as an image as well as a sound of the world

 

                                                    the earth wants to sing out loud through me

                                                    the earth wants to be born and turn into ashes by my side

                                                    but I silence it with this insufficiency of mine

 

                                                    I shall never get into anything

                                                    and never get out of anything

                                                    I am nothing

                                                    and nothing keeps me back

                                                    I could do it if  I  were not here

                                                    I could do it if my body would look at me

 

                                                    I show you the dust of my language

                                                    I never meet your lips

                                                    and never remember your words

 

                                                    I  go  but  part  of  the  way

 

Translated by Ulrich Leth Poulsen  and  Charlotte  Holck  Parkinson

Copyright by H.S.Holck. WorldRights Reserved. 1978. 2005.

C O N T A C T   T H E   H O L C K   P U B L I S H I N G    H O U S  E         editionholck@msn.com