Poems by Per Lykke Jacobsen

Poems by Per Lykke Jacobsen

Per Lykke Jacobsen had his debut as an author in 2020 with a collection of poems titled "you went before me."

It is written based on his late wives incurable disease and death. A poetic story about loss, grief, joy, and love and about feeling powerless in the face of death. These are poems that prove that the encounter with death can contain an unexpected human intensity.

Per states that the poems bloomed from his grief. Writing gave him a sense of being with his wife again; as if she were present in the room he was writing from. In the midst of grief, he felt a closeness to her as he felt the pain and longing but also the love they had shared. The joy of the life they spent together.

The writing process became Per Lykke Jacobsen’s way to process the grief and loss. Having never written anything lyrical before it was not a conscious choice to do so but rather something that naturally occurred. Like a fresh spring of inspiration breaking free. He started presenting his poetry at cafes, libraries, galleries etc. and also occasionally working with Pop Op Poeterne in Aarhus. Apart from reading and doing lectures he is also currently writing a new poetry collection as well as a novel revolving around a dying father and his son.

Per Lykke Jacobsen was born in 1948. He is dyslexic, has a degree in carpentry and architecture. His collection of poems was published through Amanda Books in 2020 and was illustrated by artist Karen Rønne.

To learn more about Per go to www.perlykke.com

you went before me

you went before me
a late summer morning
mist floated over the land
no wind moving
i saw you then
you turned left by the beach
a glimpse of your pink bathrobe 

i saw you then
you walked on the jetty 
the bathrobe had a hint
of something blue 
a towel hung over the shoulder and
was white
in the mist there was only you and the jetty
everything else blurred 

how silent it was
even the water made no sound 
just the sound of the lock
as you opened the bathhouse door

perhaps that was the sound
that made me warm 
perhaps it was something else 
when I walked onto the jetty
you had taken off your robe
there was no one else but you and me 

a small hand

we watch the hearse
swing left
at the end of the road
a small hand finds its way into mine
is grandma never coming back
no, only in our thoughts
then i will think of her every day

in the night

in the night
i can be everywhere 
in the night
i don't have to go out
not see where i am
or do other things
like going to the beach
there are no demands 
there are no shadows


in the night 
i can dwell in self-pity
as a comfort blanket
bask in the ugly egocentric
self-consumed selfishness 
in the dark of night
protected against the light 
where everything is seen
judged moralized pitied

i do not know where i am
perhaps i'm in a house
and have turned off the light
perhaps i'm on a beach
and have turned off the sun