A sidewalk Without Footsteps, a Voice Left Behind: The legacy of Henrik Hageland

The author Henrik Hageland is dead.

Why on earth should I care? A piece of news as empty as a sucked-out coconut. Hard to crack open, and perhaps a hell of a mess once you succeed?

And an author who writes in both Danish and English—what on earth is the point of that?

There are thousands of authors out there. Who cares if a single one of them has died? He was hardly known by anyone anyway, and did he win the Nobel Prize in Literature? Nah, not as far as I recall or can google my way to.

Hmm—speaking of Google, what does the miracle search engine actually have to say about him? I should probably search a bit more.

There are actually quite a few hits on this guy. Medium.com, Substack.com, numerous posts on Instagram and Facebook, Vocal.media. Poems, short stories, half-finished projects, well—what could you expect from a non-literary-trained nurse? Still, there are some interesting titles.

“Sidewalk without Footsteps” – he states that it is a critique of society. There are so many of those. Isn't the purpose of all literature to point out something glaring in society? Well, perhaps I'm being too categorical now. But the text was only published in Danish—yes, I write “only”—because the text could probably resonate in most modern Western societies. We are self-sufficient, we hide our true selves, and commitment is dangerous.

Several short stories with a twist of LGBTQ+ perspectives. It seems like this was something close to his heart. I stumbled upon his article about coming out of the closet. “My Coming Out Story”. Yes, it is undoubtedly a difficult process, coming out to parents, friends, and colleagues. But is there perhaps more depth to his story here? He ends up talking about the continuous, ongoing process of coming out—it happens in small bites, and it is a new experience every time you meet a new person, along with the considerations that determine whether you come out or not. That is actually a thought-provoking angle on the subject, but is he the only one? I doubt it.

Phew, this guy actually published quite a lot. And I can see that several of his articles and stories were nominated on Medium, and several have won prizes on Vocal. A shame it never led to him being recognized while he was alive.

So here I sit, trying to write a memorial piece about an unknown author who apparently failed to draw a large audience during his lifetime. He managed to publish one book, a poetry collection. But I guess that never became a bestseller either. Poor man, who put so much energy into trying and clearly had a message.

I have read his poetry collection. And one poem is actually quite fascinating: “Asphalt Cowboy’s Serenade of Longing” – flirtation, doubt, and hope.

I meet you out in the open

Your eyes so ocean blue

Please take my heart as your token

For ever all will be true!

It is actually a beautiful poem, and it surprises me that it never became a hit song. It should have been celebrated. Apparently, it just ended up as filler in a poetry collection.

He definitely had dreams of a life filled with joy. But one thing strikes me about his texts. He was struck by grief, and this is frequently expressed. His grief contains hope, however—hope for a life after experiencing loss. A hope that, despite everything, there must be a place for him in a new relationship. Perhaps his audience, while he was alive, thought it was too full of sorrow and dark thoughts?

That is exactly what is beginning to make sense now after his death. There are many messages about life and death and the field of tension that arises in the wake of losing a loved one. Henrik understood this through his own personal experience and his professional insight as a nurse.

He had a voice entirely his own, shaped by his Danish and Nordic origins. A little light, a little melancholy, and a deep insight into the human psyche for better or worse. He put this on display in many of his texts.

He had many ideas for things he wanted to write, and luckily for us in posterity, he got many of them published. Online, yes, not so many in print. How wonderful it would have been if he had managed to get more of his texts printed in books. Paper often remembers better than screenshots. But he didn't. He was of his time. Lived and suffered. Shared himself with those who had the time and desire to immerse themselves in his world.

Now his voice is missing. Is it a loss? He probably doesn't care himself, wherever he is now. But those of us left behind can still learn a great deal from his texts. I have to admit that, after having delved a bit more thoroughly into his writings. It’s a shame that we can no longer ask him what he meant to express or ask him to elaborate. That must remain unknown, even as we can still read his thoughts in poems and sense a fine author.

I am left with the hints scattered across his posts about what was truly lost with his passing. They suggest that there were unfinished jewels left on his hard drive, which could be incomplete masterworks—ambitious manuscripts that surely would have elevated his recurring themes to an epic, perhaps mythical, or a higher literary level. Was his life's work interrupted right at the moment it was truly about to unfold? Was he writing the definitive tale of modern man's isolation and hope? We might never know, and the unpublished fragments will forever remain the ultimate mysteries in his legacy.

He had no family. He leaves behind no heirs. That might sound lonely and sad, but I sense in Henrik's texts that this was a condition he lived with and did not oppose, in a world hell-bent on destroying itself.

I am like a lonely candle
A flame burning bright and light
Look over the rim and handle
The World needs you for its rights.

Pursue what you dream and live it
Just you know your innerly most
No living soul should try inhibit
Be proud and let shine land your coast.

(Illuminating Actions – from Henrik's book ”Gay Hope: An anthology Of Life’s Amazing Rainbow Rollercoaster – In Joy and In Sorrow")

I think that is a beautiful verse to end this memorial piece with. Look up and do something. Fight and pursue your dreams—above all, be proud and bathe in the light that the world shines upon you.

Afterthought: I was surprised by his depth. His empathy and play with words. On a completely grounded level without high-flown phrases. I, who originally thought it was a doomed task to have to write about an unknown author's death and legacy. But perhaps that is just how life is?

Disclaimer: The Author Henrik Hageland is luckily not dead, and the text above is only written for the prompt of the challenge:

The Posthumous Author

Imagine you became famous after your death. Write the author profile critics construct around your life, work, and legacy.