All right, thought Hiram,
this happens to be it--
what is real. I am
walking home on a sidewalk,
and I am drunk,
and I am passing by
a twenty-foot boat
that is situated
between the sidewalk
and someone's yard,
and sophisticated engines
driving cars
are passing me,
and I look at my distorted
shadow exactly
as I did when I was seven
years old: it is
that elongated,
legs-go-forever
shadow. And I am:
so what? And I
am walking home,
knowing the way,
what is home (?),
what is the way (?),
is this what is (?),
and I must go on
as if this is what is,
and I keep walking.
Hans Ostrom, 2012
Friday, September 21, 2012
Saloon Statment
You know (she said),
it's very important
to remember
the difference between
getting crazy
and
just being
a little
bit
drunk,
okay?
Hans Ostrom, 2012
it's very important
to remember
the difference between
getting crazy
and
just being
a little
bit
drunk,
okay?
Hans Ostrom, 2012
Poem: Not Safe For Work?
Not Safe For Work?
I'll tell you what's
not safe for work,
says the waitress dead
on her feet;
the roofer in 104 degree
heat; the
truck driver, fire
fighter, soldier,
foundry worker,
heat-vent installer.
I'll tell you what's
not safe
for work, says
the warehouse-worker, the
unveiled woman, the
veiled woman, oil-
driller, welder,
seamstress, factory-
worker. What's
not safe for work is
work.
Hans Ostrom, 2012
I'll tell you what's
not safe for work,
says the waitress dead
on her feet;
the roofer in 104 degree
heat; the
truck driver, fire
fighter, soldier,
foundry worker,
heat-vent installer.
I'll tell you what's
not safe
for work, says
the warehouse-worker, the
unveiled woman, the
veiled woman, oil-
driller, welder,
seamstress, factory-
worker. What's
not safe for work is
work.
Hans Ostrom, 2012
Thursday, September 20, 2012
Found Poem: Followed
the new sexy
you
is following
you
would you
like to follow
the new sexy
you?
hans ostrom
you
is following
you
would you
like to follow
the new sexy
you?
hans ostrom
Wednesday, September 19, 2012
Monday, September 17, 2012
Commissioned Sonnet
Going through old computer-files and -documents, I found a sonnet I'd written that had been commissioned. Someone from the Politics and Government Department where I teach (U. of Puget Sound) had asked me to write a poem to be read at their departmental graduation-gathering. This was in 2008.
About all I can say for the sonnet is that it is worth at least what they paid me for it, nothing.
I thought a sonnet--or some traditional form--was appropriate for the occasion. Every so often, I like to write a "commissioned" thing. It's an interesting challenge.
Commencement Bay is the name of the harbor next to Tacoma.
Sonnet: To Graduating Seniors in Politics and Government
About all I can say for the sonnet is that it is worth at least what they paid me for it, nothing.
I thought a sonnet--or some traditional form--was appropriate for the occasion. Every so often, I like to write a "commissioned" thing. It's an interesting challenge.
Commencement Bay is the name of the harbor next to Tacoma.
Sonnet: To Graduating Seniors in Politics and Government
We’ve been the captains of your classes here,
The admirals of your splendid senior theses.
Today we are mere ensigns of good cheer
As you depart these arches, bricks, and trees.
Your learning is your cargo. Politics
And Government’s the dock from which you sail.
The world out there is one we hope you’ll fix.
May warm and fairly traded winds prevail.
Now, after several years at Puget Sound,
You’ll voyage from your own Commencement Bay
To ports where possibilities abound.
With pride we raise a toast to you and say:
In governing your lives, be politic
And always vote for wisdom—that’s the trick.
Hans Ostrom, 2008, 2012
Saturday, September 15, 2012
Friday, September 14, 2012
It Means to You
It means to you, whatever
you're thinking now
as you sit in a chair, in
a seat, on a bench, looking
at the screen in your
hand, on your lap, on
your desk, on a wall.
It means to you, what
you're thinking
of the noise around you, of
your anxiety, of this
indescribable warren
of ideas, memories, neurons
firing, appetites, instincts--
all of it in its all-at-onceness:
mind.
It means to you, the taste
in your moth of coffee or beer or food
or smoke or your own mouth,
or someone else's. There's
the ache in one place, resentment
in another, in nerves and brain.
Are the unsatisfactions worse
than the dissatisfactions? Are
you comfortable enough
but still bored, angry, afraid,
frustrated? Are you looking
at someone now? It means
to you, it is meaning to you,
and you have been meaning, too.
Hans Ostrom, 2012
you're thinking now
as you sit in a chair, in
a seat, on a bench, looking
at the screen in your
hand, on your lap, on
your desk, on a wall.
It means to you, what
you're thinking
of the noise around you, of
your anxiety, of this
indescribable warren
of ideas, memories, neurons
firing, appetites, instincts--
all of it in its all-at-onceness:
mind.
It means to you, the taste
in your moth of coffee or beer or food
or smoke or your own mouth,
or someone else's. There's
the ache in one place, resentment
in another, in nerves and brain.
Are the unsatisfactions worse
than the dissatisfactions? Are
you comfortable enough
but still bored, angry, afraid,
frustrated? Are you looking
at someone now? It means
to you, it is meaning to you,
and you have been meaning, too.
Hans Ostrom, 2012
To Aging Friends
Oh, my aging friends,
what illnesses and
infirmities await us?
We hope to sail
along indefinitely
in these bodies.
We know we'll
be intercepted
and boarded by pirates.
The rigging creaks.
Boat-loads of young
women pass.
At best, they ignore
us, at worst laugh
at our sad crafts.
The aging are
a patient armada sailing
under a tie-dyed flag.
Ah, my aging friends,
let's drink wine in moonlight
on this our rolling deck.
Hans Ostrom, 2012
what illnesses and
infirmities await us?
We hope to sail
along indefinitely
in these bodies.
We know we'll
be intercepted
and boarded by pirates.
The rigging creaks.
Boat-loads of young
women pass.
At best, they ignore
us, at worst laugh
at our sad crafts.
The aging are
a patient armada sailing
under a tie-dyed flag.
Ah, my aging friends,
let's drink wine in moonlight
on this our rolling deck.
Hans Ostrom, 2012
Wednesday, September 12, 2012
Tuesday, September 11, 2012
A Few Moments in the Comparisonator
Her eyes were as blue as not
sky or sea but, but, uh--
cornflowers.
The moon looked like not
cheese, a face, a balloon, but
a flashlight shined
on
varicose veins.
My love for you is stronger
than my breath
after I've eaten
raw onions and Limburger
cheese. What? You don't
eat raw onions or
Limburger cheese?
A sadness enveloped me.
Like an envelope. Right?
When you take off your
clothes, baby, I don't
think about comparisons.
Hans Ostrom, 2012
sky or sea but, but, uh--
cornflowers.
The moon looked like not
cheese, a face, a balloon, but
a flashlight shined
on
varicose veins.
My love for you is stronger
than my breath
after I've eaten
raw onions and Limburger
cheese. What? You don't
eat raw onions or
Limburger cheese?
A sadness enveloped me.
Like an envelope. Right?
When you take off your
clothes, baby, I don't
think about comparisons.
Hans Ostrom, 2012
Monday, September 10, 2012
Consciousness, This Space
This customary space, consciousness (as you hear
the hiss of evening traffic): a pliable, warped
sphere with membrane boundaries. Sometimes
the activity called thinking permeates
the membrane. And there you are,
situated in a non-view.
Not so much detached as unbounded.
You see a gleam for a while without
knowing or naming it; it isn't gleam.
....Chrome....toaster....fender...glass...?
Utterly receptive perception . . .
You settle into out-settledness.
Sounds. Blurs. What is there
enwraps you loosely like
the lightest fabric. There's
the merest hint of, well,
forever (as you hear the
hiss . . .)
Hans Ostrom, 2012
the hiss of evening traffic): a pliable, warped
sphere with membrane boundaries. Sometimes
the activity called thinking permeates
the membrane. And there you are,
situated in a non-view.
Not so much detached as unbounded.
You see a gleam for a while without
knowing or naming it; it isn't gleam.
....Chrome....toaster....fender...glass...?
Utterly receptive perception . . .
You settle into out-settledness.
Sounds. Blurs. What is there
enwraps you loosely like
the lightest fabric. There's
the merest hint of, well,
forever (as you hear the
hiss . . .)
Hans Ostrom, 2012
Sunday, September 9, 2012
What My Job Is
Oh, I know what Management
thinks my job is, don't worry. It's
to help those to whom they
report report that a profit
was made. My family and truth
to tell my friends, and me too,
we think my job is to keep
my job. Beyond that, no one
cares about my work, not
even the ones who send me
bills. Because computers
and some people trying to
keep their jobs send me
the bills, which, if I don't
pay--well, Management there
manages a legal department.
When I'm on the job, I
do my work. Something
I don't tell anyone is this: I
always do something to
hang on to a piece of myself.
What that is varies. Sometimes
people see me doing that kind of
thing, a self-saving thing, and
I'm not giving examples. Anyway,
I see people at the place
looking at me, trying to figure
why I did that or said this.
That kind of thing, that's
not in the job-description.
Hans Ostrom, 2012
thinks my job is, don't worry. It's
to help those to whom they
report report that a profit
was made. My family and truth
to tell my friends, and me too,
we think my job is to keep
my job. Beyond that, no one
cares about my work, not
even the ones who send me
bills. Because computers
and some people trying to
keep their jobs send me
the bills, which, if I don't
pay--well, Management there
manages a legal department.
When I'm on the job, I
do my work. Something
I don't tell anyone is this: I
always do something to
hang on to a piece of myself.
What that is varies. Sometimes
people see me doing that kind of
thing, a self-saving thing, and
I'm not giving examples. Anyway,
I see people at the place
looking at me, trying to figure
why I did that or said this.
That kind of thing, that's
not in the job-description.
Hans Ostrom, 2012
All Work and No Play at a Cafe
(based on found language)
All Work and No Play at a Cafe
Damn, I partied last light. Hell
yes I did. What's the saying?
All work and no play makes
Jack a--uh--a--a whatever.
Is that my latte?
Hans Ostrom, 2012
All Work and No Play at a Cafe
Damn, I partied last light. Hell
yes I did. What's the saying?
All work and no play makes
Jack a--uh--a--a whatever.
Is that my latte?
Hans Ostrom, 2012
Friday, September 7, 2012
Perfect Is Over-rated
(riff on language, Italicized, found on Tumblr)
Perfect is Over-rated
I'm not perfect, and I don't want
to be. Because being perfect
is so over-rated. I mean,
I'd actually rank imperfection
above perfection. For one
thing, perfection doesn't exist.
Read that old fart, Plato. You
can't get to Ideal from here,
so it's as bad as nothing.
Plus everybody I know
who's supposedly perfect
turns out to be, you know,
killers, rapists, head-cases,
cutters, pukers, yellers.
Dangerous or sad.
Less than optimal, I'm thinking.
So, yeah, I wouldn't put
perfect on my fantasy team.
Hans Ostrom, 2012
Perfect is Over-rated
I'm not perfect, and I don't want
to be. Because being perfect
is so over-rated. I mean,
I'd actually rank imperfection
above perfection. For one
thing, perfection doesn't exist.
Read that old fart, Plato. You
can't get to Ideal from here,
so it's as bad as nothing.
Plus everybody I know
who's supposedly perfect
turns out to be, you know,
killers, rapists, head-cases,
cutters, pukers, yellers.
Dangerous or sad.
Less than optimal, I'm thinking.
So, yeah, I wouldn't put
perfect on my fantasy team.
Hans Ostrom, 2012
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