How To Be A Cat

In honor of our cat, who is now sitting in front of the television screen and staring at me in a patient but accusatory way, I am re-posting a poem from about a year and a half ago:


How To Be A Cat


Be the noble curator of your excellence, for
fate made you perfect. In all things, be precise:
standing, sitting, staring, walking, sniffing, eating,
sleeping, killing. Never look in mirrors,
which are windows for the insecure. Sleep
in a variety of comfortable places, which
were created for you alone. Make acquaintances,
never friends. The latter tend to cling.

All phenomena are potential enemies. Therefore,
stare, listen, listen, stare, sniff, stare, listen, sniff,
hide, stare, and listen. Never perform tricks. Leave
those to dogs, who need to be wanted and want
to be liked. Talk as necessary, but never just
to chit-chat. Crack the whip of feline fury as
you wish. Keep the blades of your four feet sharp
and retracted like long-held resentments. Let
your soul's motor idle and strum the taut cord
of your body. No one owns you.

God made you and likes you best. In a world
that's dubious, you are certain. You never
make mistakes. You are entitled to what
you want; otherwise, why would you want it?
No matter what else you may be undertaking,
never be reticent to stop and groom yourself,
for you are superb, and self-maintenance
doubles as self-admiration. You are a cat,
a form of beauty that enters stealthily,
naps, and agrees to be admired. You
are a cat. Everything is as it should be.


Hans Ostrom
Copyright 2008 Hans Ostrom

Anthology of Modern Turkish Poetry

Here is a link . . . information about EDA: An Anthology of Modern Turkish Poetry, published in 2004.

Tennessee's Poet Laureate

Margaret Britton Vaughn is Tennessee's Poet Laureate. Here is a link to an article about her and her work.

Poets Laureate In the Southwest?

As far as I have been able to determine, the Southwest of the United States is not excessively friendly to the idea of having a state poet laureate. Apparently, no such position exists in either Arizona or New Mexico.

In Texas, however, Karla Kay Morton is the state's poet laureate, and here is a link to more information about her and her writing.

Alaska's State Writer

Alaska's official State Writer is not the newly published Sarah Palin but Nancy Lord. The position seems to be similar to that of Poet Laureate, but maybe it's not a bad idea to open up such an office to other kinds of writers.

At any rate, here is a link to more information about Nancy Lord.

Race & Pedagogy Conference: Next Fall

The second national Race & Pedagogy Conference will take place on my campus next fall--on October 28, 29, 30.

Here is a link to more information.

If you are a K-12 or college teacher, a person otherwise involved in education, a scholar working in the area of race & pedagogy (and related issues), or are simply interested in the topic, please keep the conference in mind. A "Call for Papers" will go out soon.

A Link To A Great Poetry Site

A librarian-friend sent along the following link to the U.S. Library of Congress's poetry site, which is extensive and most satisfactorily browsable:

Link

Gathering Image

The other day some students and I visited the art gallery on campus, viewed the paintings, and then found a perch and began writing--or writing toward--an eckphrastic poem, or a poem concerned with another art-form besides poetry. The title of the exhibit was "Gathering Image, Fugitive Form," and the paintings & drawings that were featured occupied a fascinating position between the abstract and the representational. There was a series of paintings focused on the image of tree limbs.

Liminal Limbs

How tree limbs form patterns
and each branch follows its
own precise, crooked line
of work: such shaping is
the fruit of species and
individual, accident and
cell-division, weather
and vegetative whim. Whatever
the outcome of bark, branch,
and twig back-grounded by
sky, a painter comes along
and lets the branches suggest
an outcome on canvas, a tale
in pigment about color
and line, a story the tall tree
is alleged to have told. So
we turn from the canvas and
look through a gallery's
window at branches, which
wind shakes and bends.


Copyright 2009 Hans Ostrom

They Say About a Poem

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They Say About A Poem

Technically a poem ought to have words
in it although a blank page beneath a
title's mighty inviting, a bit like a
snowy meadow after a day filled with
looking at city crowds. They say
about a poem that a poem should show,
not tell, and be, not mean, but others
think a poem should tow, not sell,
and, really, how can a poem that is
not be, and why can't it mean while
it's being? From poems people crave
imagery, they say, they say about
a poem, but actually all
the imagery's in their heads, put there

by literacy's reflexive response to
letters applied to a surface such
as paper or a surface such as plastic
or indeed an ear's membrane. Should
a poem have conflict? Opinions about
that bicker. I know a poem that featured
many quiet rooms where you could go to get
away from all that conflict in plays,
life, novels, factories, politics,
and movies--where you could listen

to a clock chime and watch the weird
butler straighten ancient paintings
on the walls of your personality, but
I guess that, too, is a conflict.


Copyright 2009 Hans Ostrom

A Reading of "The Unknown Citizen" By Auden

Here is a link to a reading, with a visual presentation of the text, of W.H. Auden's poem, "The Unknown Citizen":

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nf1klIiCdwQ

Professor Irwin Corey, Performance Poet

I saw comedian Professor Irwin Corey often on TV when I was growing up, and I instantly took to his schtick, which was to parody the speech of politicians, scientists, and academics. His riffs are not just mocking blather, however; they're intricately timed and worded. Now that I'm a professor, I find his act even funnier. Here is a link to a recent (2008) video of Professor Corey doing his thing (and please note his hands are part of the act):

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MxtN0xxzfsw&feature=related

Bob Dylan's Favorite Poets

The site, poets.org, includes a long essay on Bob Dylan and poetry. The essay claims that a debate about whether Dylan is a poet has "raged" for a long time. I don't think it's raged very much, and I don't think there's much of a debate, although I wouldn't care to rage about the question. He writes and records ballads, among other things, and ballads are poems. Of course, everyone has an opportunity to argue about how good the ballads (etc.) are--as popular songs or as poems or as both. But that's a separate question.

The essay mentions scholar Christopher Ricks, of course, who has written extensively in support of treating Dylan's work as poetry. A paragraph from the essay:

"Christopher Ricks, who has also penned books about T. S. Eliot and John Keats, argues that Dylan's lyrics not only qualify as poetry, but that Dylan is among the finest poets of all time, on the same level as Milton, Keats, and Tennyson. He points to Dylan's mastery of rhymes that are often startling and perfectly judged."

Also, the essay notes that among Dylan's favorite poets are Paul Verlaine, Arthur Rimbaud, and Woody Guthrie. Dylan is also said to like Smokey Robinson as a poet.

Henry David Thoreau's Favorite Song

According to author Caroline Mosley, in an article cited on http://www.amaranthpublishing.com/TomBowling.htm, Henry David Thoreau's favorite popular song was "Tom Bowling," with lyrics by Charles Dibdin. Factoring in time-travel (a form of transcendentalism, arguably), I might have guessed that HDT would have leaned in Bob Dylan's direction. Here are the "Tom Bowling" lyrics:

Tom Bowling

by Charles Dibdin

Here, a sheer hulk, lies poor Tom Bowling
The darling of the crew;
No more he'll hear the tempest howling
For death has broach'd him to.
His form was of the manliest beauty,
His heart was kind and soft,
Faithful, below he did his duty,
But now he's gone aloft.
Tom never from his word departed,
His virtues were so rare,
His friends were many, and true-hearted,
His Poll was kind and fair;
And then he'd sing so blithe and jolly,
Ah, many's the time and oft!
But mirth has turn'd to melancholy,
For Tom is gone aloft.
Yet shall poor Tom find pleasant weather,
When He, who all commands,
Shall give, to call life's crew together,
The word to pipe all hands.
Thus Death, who kinds and tars despatches,
In vain Tom's life has doff'd,
For, though his body's under hatches
His soul has gone aloft.