Reflected Reflections

Lamplight ricochets

off a bit of foil, enters
two eyes, appears in a
brain, in a mind.

Sunlight softly shines
through and on a window,
where two eyes see
themselves in a failnt face.

Here are mirrors and eyes,
illuminated blindness. Skies.
Wet heat in a gleaming greenhouse
rises. A reflecting mind apprises.

hans ostrom 2024

In the Beginning

 In the beginning was,

Well, the start. In the start

Was the word. Or the light,

Lux, fiated. Fated? Was

The universe fated to be

And/or not to be? In the 

First place was no place,

Less than a speck, a tiny

Spec-piece of  this period. No,

Really. Out of that

Micro-dot came All.

In that beginning was a Boom-

Bang-Big-Thang. In

The beginning was the end,

A reeling in, an eternal return,

An 8 lying on its side. 

In a human baby’s beginning

Is a grammar, a formal loam

Already ready for sounds,

Signs, words, phrases, phases

Of versation. Hear the toddler

Form past present future,

Possess the prepositions,

Put syntax in the right position. 

All right, light, let it be, let it

Go on, shine forth. In the Begin,

Let's lean in, watch our words,

Listen here, hear, listen:

We're caught in brute matter

And magic, always beginning. 

hans ostrom 2024

Early Morning Light

He woke up after 2:00 a.m.

in a rented room & looked
out a window & saw one bright
star in a dark sky. It hung

just above isolated
city lights. He guessed
the glinting diamond-like
shining came from Venus.

It took more time than he
thought for him to break
his gaze. Looking at the light
made him feel better. Why
not keep looking, then?--
that was the logic,

which seemed in his life
to prevail in these times
of murky, poisoned skies
hanging low over human
politics, human time.

hans ostrom 2023

Move

Move through dew

on grass like an eel
muscling itself between
canals. Move

into light and shadow,
the dappled landscape
of your life. Ride
like a child

the silly contraptions
of commerce--escalator,
elevator, metro, & sad,
sagging bus. Keep

going, knowing
you're probably not
going to get anywhere
special fast, except Here.

hans ostrom 2023

Yes We Saw the Sea Again

upon further refraction

that piece of golden

sea we saw smeared

itself with a pink sheen.

language, our tour

guide, narrated

the event with syllables

marinated in purples,

blues, yellows, grays.

as such, the sighting,

a constant birthing

of scene, seemed all

the more profound for

having nothing to do

with our seeing. still,

sacredly we saw the sea.

hans ostrom 2021

Dawn Testimony

I can testify: I saw the sky

fill up with light today. Palest

blue and mildest yellow

mixed, then enlarged like the feeling

of hope. Trees

could pose in silhouette, 

if they so chose. I can report

I smiled one of those smiles

you smile when you don't

know you're smiling. Yes,

it was just dawn, but 

I was there, and I can testify. 

hans ostrom 2020

Moon Street

The Swedes call it mångata:

Moon Street. It's the reflection

of a low hanging moon

on lake or sea, crafting illusion

of avenue narrowing to a point

out there, with dark water 

as unlit pavement on both

sides. Mind may take you

on a stroll down Moon Street--

you'll be the only traffic.

Yes, you're walking slow

down the avenue on solid

light, going to talk to a cool

sphere, with its round, humorous

face and droll attitude.

Moon Street is a good location.

hans ostrom 2020

Rainbow Matters: the Well Lit Time

 So it's morning or afternoon

and there's an invisible cone

lying prone, see, with you

at the narrow end and a curtain

of mist droplets at the wide

end. The sun's behind you,

working hard as usual, low

enough to tip the cone to

a 42 degree angle. Now

the droplets confer. They

get in prism formation so

the conical curvature in the mist

blushes variously red orange

yellow green blue indigo violet. 

At this crucial juncture,

the mist sings to the sun,

although you can't hear

the song. But you sure

can see it, yes you're in the right

place at the well lit time.

hans ostrom 2020

Classy Sun

All that light today. So generous
of the sun, the only one.
The shape of objects could be known
without touching them: often helpful

A crow poked at a bone,
which shone pearly gray.
I was witness to this and other
tableaux, as sunfalls

poured down and down
and the sun gave as much
of itself as it could. It is
a dedicated, hard-working star.

I waved my appreciation.
The sun acknowledged this
by splashing some light
on my hand. Classy.


hans ostrom 2020

His Final Thought

Just before he died
he realized nothing
was heavy or dark
and everything was
light. And light.



hans ostrom 2019

Another Last Page

Here we are at another
last page. No need

to revisit what's
previous. It's just a

last page, not the end
of books. Open

the drapes. See what's up
out there with light.


hans ostrom 2018

Smug Shadow

When I was young, I didn't take
my shadow for granted much.
I looked for and at it. My preference
was that version roughly
proportional to my body. I felt

ludicrous when I saw the one
where my torso disappeared
and my legs grew to meet
my neck.  I hardly ever look
at my shadow now.  It just

never seemed to develop
into a major innovative
displacement of light. And
honestly, I'm tired of carrying
it around.  At the same time:

no shadow, no me.  It is
a kind of proof. Believe me,
my shadow's quite aware
that it's indispensable to my being.
It's a smug, insubstantial thing.



hans ostrom 2017

Detective in Uppsala

Somebody hired me to find out
what happens to light in Sweden.
Uppsala, specifically.  Hey, my
far-far was Swedish, I wanted to say
as I started the job. There was no
fooling the Swedes.  Every move I
made was American.  Even when I
was quiet, I was loud; and on time,
late. What I found out.

was light fills snow in Uppsala along about
January.  It will have you dreaming
in Bergman scenes.  In summer, it
leaves town for the lakes. It takes
the place of paint: some buildings
are an uncanny yellow, others eye-blue,
others as pale as the belly of a fish
in the Fyris River. I saw light

playing on birch bark, in gold hair,
black hair, brown hair. I have
a recording of light congratulating
raindrops.  The light in this
one apartment almost had me
sobbing, it was so beautiful.
(Private Eyes aren't supposed to cry.)
I praised light in crystal. I
tasted it in pastry.  That's
what I found out. That's my report.


* far far = grandfather
hans ostrom 2017

The Great Photon River

I wonder about the number of electrons
in me. I know you wonder the same
about the number in you. I wonder about
their origin. And I wonder about photons:
fiat photons. Sometimes, ego

forgets to block out all transmissions
from the broader spectrum,
in which instants
you may glimpse,
I can too,

the scene that shows it's all,
including here and us, one river
of light flowing around
and through black-hole boulders
and dark-matter mountains.



hans ostrom 2015

"Wisdom," by Siegfried Sassoon

and the soup

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*
*


and the soup


and I'm glad for soup,
 for hot soup on  bitter days

and I'm happy there is
black hair, white hair, brown
and red hair, gold hair;

and for breath--so easy
to forget I owe everything
to it, to breath, to . . .

. . . to the Circumstances
(one way to say it) I am
grateful, for I am here,

I was here, will have been

here. . . and I'm glad for light,
day and sky and bulb,
light in dreams;
and glad for darkness--

black silhouettes of pines
against blackness and stars,
holy, holy . . .and the soup.


Copyright 2011 Hans Ostrom

Attitude Toward Light

*
*
*
*


Attitude Toward Light


Light's entered once more. It's physics;
and a miracle. A sky of light, a scene
of green life drinking light--commonplace,
we might say; but shouldn't.

You're seeing the light or-and feeling
light's warmth on your skin--
light just arriving from the sun. Breathe
into the peace of it. Will civilization--
there's only one now, you know--
ever be marked mainly by its
capacity for peace? In this light,

it's important to ask such questions,
from which more light shines. Let your arms
hang down. Tilt your face up to the light.
For a moment hold this attitude, not
that other one. Your breath goes
out to the light.


Copyright 2011 Hans Ostrom