Friday, September 12, 2014

Diversity and Liberal Arts Colleges


A link to a piece about (the lack of) diversity, including economic diversity, at Whitman College. Implicitly the piece touches on a problem most liberal arts colleges now face.

http://www.theawl.com/2014/09/how-whitman-college-is-destroying-itself






Wednesday, September 10, 2014

"To a Child Dancing in the Wind," by W.B. Yeats





"The Cabin at Lavezolla Creek," by Hans Ostrom


When we built the Jones cabin
up Lavezolla Creek, summer,
Sierra Nevada, we left home
in the loaded pickup and worked
ten-hour days. The droning drive
in the '69 Ford F-100
took an hour one way.

The Old Man was nearing 60 years
then. At noon he'd take a cat-nap
on the plywood sub-floor, his silver
lunch-bucket the pillow, his hat
over his eyes. Snored. I remember
something like pity arising in me.
Now I'm sixty, the Old Man's been dead
a long time, and I ended up with
the green Ford pickup, which people
think is "cool." The recall

of bright summer, big conifers,
the quick creek, and work to make
you bone tired seems now like
something that will disappear soon,
like a butterfly or pine-pollen
floating in lustrous air. These tributary
memories that shape our maps
of ourselves disappear as we do.
No one will remember that the Old Man
and I were the crew.



hans ostrom 2014


Monday, September 8, 2014

"The Difference Between Despair and Fear," by Hans Ostrom





"Images Coalesce," by Hans Ostrom

I have come to believe
(note somber rhetoric)
that when the images
don't coalesce (there
is a chrome fender in
manzanita, a desire in me
to seem clever, billions
of objects and animals,
blue fabric, scalded flesh,
nothing, hydro-electric
dams, nothing, no connection,
and "surrealism" is no excuse,
shut up) we need to
let them be art.

The images coalesce
because to see patterns
has been drilled into us.
Capitalize. The images
coalesce because
our brains evolved,
along with much of what's
on the surface, and our
brains change what's here,
manufacturing patterns.
(Incidentally, who am I?
No, I mean really, who
am I?) The brain is
at home, that is.


hans ostrom 2014

Thursday, September 4, 2014

"Welcome to the Middle Class," by Hans Ostrom

To those concerned:
Welcome to the Middle Class.

Feel free to make as many
distinctions as you can
about things and people,
politics, art, food, animals,
and nothing. Feel free.

If you don't have an opinion,
make one up. We will assist!

Always spend more than you make.

Never relax, not really,
especially when you have
scheduled relaxation,
which is also competitive.

Cultivate a certain sensibility.
Keep score. Strive.


hans ostrom 2014



"Silver Glide," by Hans Ostrom


In the silver car
you're driving, where
did you get it, we snake
gracefully on a highway
that follows the curves
of hills near the sea,
hills embroidered with lights,
lights lining streets
and avenues. And the sense
of the sea in the dark.

And yes I know tomorrow
the car will be stolen,
you will blame me even
though you are my alibi,
and I will sit on a hot
sidewalk, staring
into sunlit murk of mist
and smog. But tonight it
is, will be, and was good,
a silver ride, a generous
glide through oblivion.


hans ostrom 2014


"Blues Talk," by Hans Ostrom


Blues talk, blues and talk, the need
to feel something, something real,
the want to break something,
to break what's learned by rote, take
the parts and heal them together
one time with the sacred and the frivolous
itch to play:

such is the incubatory campaign
that elected 12 bars
and gave jazz a lasting victory.

And you, you, you will want
to spend time with music made
by people with a freed inmate's
attitude, a worker's not a warden's,
and surely, surely not a guard's.


Wednesday, September 3, 2014

"He Wishes for the Cloths of Heaven," by W.B. Yeats





"Jane Austen Has a Headache," by Hans Ostrom

Jane Austen has a headache
from watching all those god-damned
adaptations of her books.
Film's too easy. Life is heavier
and slower than film, not pretty.
Life smells of chamber-pots,
rotten violets, horse-farts,
men's wigs, and mildew.

Obviously, thinks Jane's headache,
the main actors come from the new
aristocracy: celebrity. Off-camera,
they must be insufferable and stupid.

They don't know about Jane Austen,
her world, the smells and diseases,
the lovely cage of womanhood.
They don't know her headache.

They simulate the houses of her world.
They use industry-standard makeup,
lighting, and costumes. If the headache
weren't so bad, Jane Austen might be
alarmed.


hans ostrom

"Timidity," by Hans Ostrom

The systems fear timidity more than courage.
Timidity's a unique form of resistance:
not calculated, forced, or feigned.
Thus it must be broken, is the logic.

Demonized. Degraded. Turned into terror.
Timidity's the bravery of instinct.

The systems need people to cast off
less useful responses, leaving the ones
that help extract the most value.
Thus timidity must be turned into fear
or numb surrender.  One someone says,
"Don't be shy," consider it an order
and respond accordingly.


hans ostrom 2014

"Sociopaths," by Hans Ostrom


I've encountered quite a few sociopaths.
Some were famous poets. Some were
academics. Some both.

One sociopath patted me on the back,
just below the right shoulder, three times.
There was no sense of connection. The
interaction let me know I could be a tree;
his hand, a chainsaw.

Another sociopath grabbed my ass
(the right cheek) at a large crowded
wake. He could have been massaging dough.
(He had a cooking show.)

One of these two sociopaths is dead,
and the other might as well be.
Every so often, I wake from
a malformed nightmare. Something
about hands fashioned from metal,
eyes from ivory. I am not recognized.


hans ostrom 2014


Tuesday, August 26, 2014

"Jesus and the Condominium," by Hans Ostrom


Somewhere in the United States, someone
is trying to sell Jesus a share
in a condominium-scheme. Christ
is told He may vacation anywhere
in the world using a complicated
point-system. First He must pay
a lot of money to participate
in the point-system. Did

a counterpart to the verb, "to vacation,"
exist in Aramaic? Jesus is trying
to remember. He thinks it's a miracle
that people fall
for such scams. Christ notes

that sales-eyes are not on the sparrow,
and sales-affections lie not
with the poor. After he says

"No" the seventh time, he adds,
"I live in Heaven for free
and come here to Hell only
on business.Therefore this package
is not for me."


hans ostrom 2014



"Opinions," by Hans Ostrom

Opinions, the styrofoam peanuts
of human discourse, proliferate;
are almost weightless; annoy
so much they wither us. The more

opinions most people hear or read,
well, the more they think they
should cultivate their own. A few
respond another way. They constrain

their points of view, refuse to argue,
wait for evidence but rarely
trust it. They're just fine with
saying "I don't know." Terrifying words.

Sometimes I place the word "opinion"
next to the word "onion." It is fun
to look at them side by side. Always
I prefer "onion" to "opinion."


hans ostrom 2014



"Out Fairly Far," by Hans Ostrom


We're fairly far out now, well
past the harbor. We float on darkness,
look back to diminished city lights.
Stars gain candle-power. The sea

makes more sounds than we can
listen to. None of us knows
why we're out here, not really.
All of us fell short of

our dreams for ourselves. The
dramas of our lives are small
but exhaust us still. There is no
captain. We take turns at the helm.


hans ostrom 2014


Friday, August 8, 2014

Found Poem: "Rates"

Of course,
the closer you are to your
death-bed,
the higher
the rates will be.


Hans Ostrom 2014

Hans Ostrom's Big List of Things to Write Poetry About

(or . . . About Which to Write Poetry; or Fiction, for that matter)

1. Say, "I can't believe I've never written a poem about [         ]" and then fill in the blank as you wish.
2. Real birds, closely observed.
3. Real human gestures, closely observed.
4. Imaginary human gestures.
5. Odors, stenches, smells, aromas.
6. Your own feet.
7. Imagine the lines on one of your palms are from a map. Of what?
8. About that time when you were excluded from a group.
9. About that time you had a hand in excluding someone else from a group.
10. Guilt.
11. Joy, the real ecstatic stuff.
12. Thinking, the process off. "Watch" yourself think.
13. War, if you've been to war.
14. War, if you haven't been to war.
15. A piece of art. Any piece of art. This would be an ekphrastic poem.
16. Work. Such as a specific job you held/hold.
17. A specific place in a big city; medium-sized city; town; small town.
18. A scene as seen by someone else.  Or as experienced by someone else. Perhaps even in their spoken or interior voice.
19. Cursing, curse-words.
20. Toys. Old toys. Imaginary toys.
21. A specific plant, closely observed.  Weed, flower, vegetable, shrub.
23. Something seen through a different lens: microscope, telescope, some kind of window.
24. Dancing of some kind.
25. A quiet place in a big building.
26. A noisy place in a big building
27. Hair.
28. Fashion.
29. An ethical dilemma.
30. Money. Actual money (coins, bills, checks, virtual money). Concerns about money. Desires connected to money.
31. An imaginary room or space that you "add" to an abode you once lived in.  Let's say you lived in a one-bedroom apartment or a two-bedroom shack.  Add one room or space and write about it.
32. An unusual experience with an animal.
33. Insects. Arachnids.
34. Rain.
35. Snow.
36. Illness.
37. People in power. A person in power.
38. An engine or motor of some kind.
39. Words you like, dislike, misuse, use too much, never use.
40. Reactions, responses, free-associations connect to the number "40" or the word, "Forty."
41. Learning to do something.
42. Forgetting how to do something.
43. Cooking.
44. Eating.
45. Copulation.
46. Other people, working.
47. Other people, worshipping.
48. Bones.
49. Dreams, as in nightmares.
50. Ambition.
51. Candy.
52. Playing a musical instrument.
53. Hypocrisy--yours, preferably; or someone else's.
54. Serendipity, an example thereof in your life.
55. Make several words out of  letters from the word, "serendipity," and start a poem using those words.
56. Write a poem that is one long, well shaped sentence.
57. A list-poem.
58. A how-to poem: how to fall in love, how to cook an egg, how to listen to an old person, etc.
59. Expedience.
60. The way a politician talks.
61. Your handwriting.
62. A childhood friend.
63. A childhood imaginary friend.
64. An amphibian.
65. A reptile.
66. Some aspect of science or medicine.
67. Some aspect of technology.
68. Conversations you hate to have with yourself.
69. Weight-gain.
70. Weight-loss.
71. Something you've read.
72. An homage-poem about someone or some event.
73. Jealousy.
74. Rage.
75. Envy.
76. Gluttony.
77. Privilege.
78. Tastes--beverages and food.
79. A quality of light.
80. Education.
81. Hate.
82. Confusion.
83. Something you regard as dull: the topic of life insurance, technical manuals, advice, shit other people seem to like a lot, etc.
84. How not-special you are.
85. How special you are. You can be sarcastic, of course.
86. High school athletics.
87. High school mean-ness.
88. High school: the physical landscape of it.
89. Yourself in 5 years.
90.Cloth.
91. Metal.
92. Wood.
93. Rocks.
94. Breathing.
95. An absurd situation.
96. Poverty.
97. A law.
98. A rule.
99. Rhythm.
100. Awkwardness of any kind.
101. Mathematics.
102. Religion.
103. Philosophy. A philosophical quotation.
104. Suburbia.
105. A proportionally accurate map of the world (you might be surprised).
106. Geology.
107. Economics.
108. Plastic.
109. Underwear.
110. Violence.
111. Redemption.
112. Weather.
113. Climate.
114. A mask.
115. A road.
116. A woman.
117. A man.
118. A trans-gender person.
119. Processed food.
120. Ice.
121. What's in a bathroom.  Specifics.
122. Your skin.
123. A time-piece.
124. Something you enjoy touching.
125. A letter to someone you will never meet.
126. A text-message to God.
127. A text-message from God.
128. Your own birth--make something up.
129. Punctuation.
130. Various oils.
131. A place that "disappeared": such as a field on which people built something.
132. A creek.
133. A culvert.
134. A tunnel.
135. A small pond.
136. Tools.
137. Pretentiousness.
138. Pigs.
139. Snakes.
140. Smoking.
141. A very hot day.
142. Noses.
143. Tiny creatures, such as fleas and mites.
144. Dusk.
145. Getting up early.
146. An apology.
147. Belts, scarves, ties--accessories.
148. Listening to the radio.
149. Not listening to the radio.
150. The physical qualities of some kind of computer.
151. A town you visited precisely once.
156. Air.
157. Washing clothes.
158. Something you are good at.
159. Drums.
160. Wires.
161. Death.
162. An old movie.
163. An awful cafe.
164. A form of spirituality not your own.
165. Zeno's Paradox.
166. Something in a museum.
167. Mirages.
168. Annoyances.
169. Dizziness.
170. Working out.
171. Not working out.
172. Dependence.
173. Independence.
174. A coastline.
175. A concept you may not understand, such as relativity or the horizon.
176. Fixing something. Repairs.
177. Shoes.
178. Something hand-made.
179. Something mass-produced.
180. Advertising.
181. The language of finance and investing, as applied to something else, such as sex.
182. Breasts.
183. Genitalia.
184. Something weirdly comic.
185. The oldest person you know.
186. Guns and ammo.
187. Yoga--whether you practice it or not.
188. Feces. Like dog-shit.
189. Stairs.
190. A piece of public sculpture.
191. A recipe.
192. Video games.
193. Astronomy.
194. Astrology.
195. A chore, a task, a routine.
196. Language itself, my dear.
197. Alchemy.
198. Bullshit, figuratively.
199. Bullshit, literally.
200. Farming.
201. Ranching.
202. Commercial fishing.
203. Vegetables.
204. Hiking.
205. Mobility via wheel-chair or crutches.
206. An impairment.
207. A gift.
208. Lessons you didn't like: music lessons, swimming lessons, etc.
209. An invented lesson.
210. The concept of "zero."
211. Something you think "belongs" to you.
212. An official form of some kind.
213. Any two or more of the above in combination, such as "a gift" and "a chore."
214. Why the joker is, in fact, not wild.
215. A game.
216. Phrases like "You're welcome" or "Make yourself at home."

--Hans Ostrom, 2014

"Love Not In Demand," by Hans Ostrom





Thursday, July 24, 2014

"I Wonder What Your Latitude Is Tonight," by Hans Ostrom


I'm going in another direction.
But I might see you when
the Earth turns around.

The blood on my hands
(not mine by the way)
turned into foaming rainbows.

I'm now riding through the "sky":
it is so mild. And I wonder what
your latitude is tonight.




hans ostrom 2014




"Sierra Buttes," by Hans Ostrom


The Sierra Buttes
are what Cubism
had wanted to be:
a multi-planed,
sui generis impro-
vization, a force
of nature admired
as an object d'arte.

Up were the plates
thrust in the patient
geological crash.
Then came the mother
tongue, ice, which

ultimately withdrew
(think how slowly),
leaving this grand
stone assemblage,
this blue-jazz
diorite peak
with no peak,
instead a bulbous
massif.

Every different angle
invents a new Buttes
(plurality in the
singularity of the
plural singular),
each resulting in

an entirely different
understanding of
"the Sierra Buttes."
Standing in the town
of Sierra City,
one notices that
looking up
creates in humans
uncomfortable planes
for the head and the

neck. And it is
no wonder that people
who live in
Sierra City and other
small mountain-towns
around our
geological globe
tend to
develop highly original
designs for calamity,
have crafted
grand existential comedies--
forces of life
that may never
be shaped into art.

For there is no answer
to the mountain,
there is no solution
to how the Sierra Buttes
trivialize
human endeavor,
or so think humans
(this is drama
on our scale)
as they consider
the mountain the
mountain.


hans ostrom 2014



Sunday, July 20, 2014

"The Wind Sprang Up at Four O'Clock," by T.S. Eliot





"Economics," by Hans Ostrom

Why do I have to share?
You don't have to share, if
you're opposed to sharing.
Why would I want to share?
You would want to share
because you are able to do so
and because
sharing expresses the proper
blend
of your will and your empathy.

. . .No one leads
a completely individual life.
Eventually everyone
needs someone, wants
others. There
sharing begins.. . .


hans ostrom

Monday, July 7, 2014

"Fin," by Hans Ostrom

I grew a fin.
It helps me swim.

The wife of many years
divorced me. She
thought the issue of a fin
was insurmountable.

I had to learn
to sleep on
my side or belly.
Also, clothes:
you can imagine.

Otherwise,
I don't care.
Everybody's
got something.
I have a fin.


hans ostrom 2014



Thursday, July 3, 2014

"Dig," by Hans Ostrom

Look down, if you like,
on this archaeological dig:

where once someone
stood and looked
at ruins left by previous
inhabitants.

Behind us and slightly
above will stand
someone looking down
at this old place,

decrepit in future.
Odd, this desire

to pass through
a crowded, vibrant
city of noise and
pulse, the great fracas,

so as to stand still
and gaze upon
sad stones on which
throngs lived long ago.

Blame it on Time, which makes
us chronological voyeurs.



hans ostrom 2014

"Radar Songs," by Hans Ostrom

Airline attendants walk among us,
angels of the Aisle. They draw
lines on air and attend to them.
They feed us nectar and encrypt

aluminum dreams. We're the departed,
scheduled to arrive at a gate
leading anywhere. Airline attendants
speak hypothetically of a

"water landing," which is more
of a problem than a seat-cushion
can solve. Fasten your seat-belts,
Believers, and fly fascinated!

Resort to destinations
and leave your baggage unclaimed. Let
it ride like an old symbol
around the dream-slow carousel,

which implies that all human activity
proves to be absurd eventually
if not sooner. That is why airline
attendants will dance

around the Control Tower
tonight (whisper: tonight!),
raising a chorus
of radar songs.

hans ostrom 2014

"Love to Faults is Always Blind," by William Blake





"Julia," by Robert Herrick




Wednesday, June 25, 2014

"What Did the Fisherman Say to the Fish?" by Hans Ostrom

1. Nothing.
2. "There you are, you little bastard, got you."
3. "You really swallowed that thing, didn't you?"
4. "My brain is more highly evolved than yours, and this is proof!"
5. "Have I caught you at a bad time?"
6. "I don't know why I fish."
7. ("'m drunk.")
8. ("How does it feel to drown in air?")
9. Nothing



"Escape," by Georgia Douglas Johnson




Wednesday, June 18, 2014

"First Class Boarding," by Hans Ostrom



At the airport,
the difference
between
the general-boarding area
and
the First Class one
consists of a rug
on which First Class
was stitched
by a machine.
Also a short blue nylon band
suggests a barrier
between
the two areas.
These things we do.
These distinctions we make.


hans ostrom 2014

Tuesday, June 17, 2014

"A Mona Lisa," by Angelina Weld Grimké




"Thinking at a Funeral," by Hans Ostrom

It's sad to think that those little
private,unfounded beliefs (blue underwear
will bring me luck
)will die
with each of us,
along with the complex cultures
we create in our minds, whereas something
truly silly like labeling water H-2-0
will persist indefinitely. I was

thinking this at a funeral when
I was supposed to be listening
to a "friend" of the deceased
talk almost exclusively about
himself, not the life of
the dead man. Dear Lord:
there are over 7 billion
vagabond human minds on Earth;
please advise.



hans ostrom 2014


Friday, May 16, 2014

"Weak Days," by Hans Ostrom


Sunday was a damned done-day,
if you ask me, and you didn't.
Monday was a numb-day.
Wednesday? What a clot
of consonants. That mid-
dumb-day did not
find me inconsolable.
But still. Thursday,
a blur's day. Tues,
the Blues, an out-of-
order cruise. Fly-Day
night, I saw old pals
getting buzzed and sat
there in a corner like
a spider that's lost
its appetite. Saturday
always seems to want
to perform like
an Ur-Day. Academics
used to like to add
Ur to words. They're
always doing shit like that.
Also,there's always a missing
day in every week. It's that
one on which we do
exactly what we're
supposed to do.