I am an emotion-based creature who proves not to live in the real world more than necessary. Subtle moods and sorrows, stylized worlds, mystical and lyrical stuff, that is mine. From the realm of art and literature, it is romanticism and decadence where I find my kind. Being very sensitive towards the things beyond, I always sense the persons behind the text I am reading, and believe that getting to know the authors through their work, is possible. So it is only logical that I have always been drawn to people at least partly similar to me. Lord Byron, William Blake, the Czech decadent Karel Hlaváček, the divine urchin Rimbaud… And Hans Børli. There is something about his profound observations of nature, his sensitivity, honesty and the unbelievably subtle and humble authorship emanating from his verses. I have been smitten by him describing exactly those elusive moments of woodland nirvana I have been experiencing throughout my whole life. And since I feel such a strong resonation with him, I would like to find as much as I can about the personality of this inconspicuous, yet so prodigious author.

Hans Børli (1918-1989) was a Norwegian lumberjack and a poet. That is to say, he was neither only the one or the other, he was both, and the first made the latter bearable and vice versa. He grew up on a secluded farm near the border with Sweden, forests and lakes being his playground. For lack of other options, he became a lumberjack and spent his whole life in the forests reluctantly killing trees, his friends. In his early years, he developed a talent for observation. What he saw in the woods, he forged into verses, looking for harmony while barking a deep-frozen fir tree, hands fatigued with labour.

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