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All Politicians Wear Make-Up
All politicians wear makeup because
cameras are their constituents. Actors
attempt politics because celebrity
has made them rulers of feudal
entourages. Pastors become actors
because they don't have faith that God
will fill the seats. Atheists become pastors
because they want to share the empty news.
Journalists become atheists because they
report on hell and no one seems especially
alarmed. Citizens become journalists
because journalism collapsed. Wisdom
becomes rare because so few seem
to have the patience for it. Information
replaces it. People inhale fumes
of information, get high, gaze at their
screens, see politicians, all politicians
wearing makeup.
Copyright 2010 Hans Ostrom
Cosmetics: Webster's Timeline History, 2007
Monday, April 19, 2010
Extra-Time
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Extra-Time
I know there's no next time, each time
being one time and one life, one life.
So the thing is to work up an extra-time:
one as-if, a single could-be, or a solitary
the-way-it-was. Walk in summer
up to that old barn with its baked,
rough-milled, untreated boards that
smell so great and watch black
carpenter-bees fly into, out of, holes
that just fit their bodies, and feel the body,
yours, taut, and look and breathe
that one time as someone puts a glass jar
over a bee-hole, and the next bee out
knocks itself silly against glass but
recovers, and a Ford that isn't old
passes by--sound of radio from an open
window, sound of a busted, snarling
muffler. And there, see, are tall green
weeds and sweet-pea vines. In comes
fresh air, just as easy as that, and in
your right front pocket is a folding
knife with traces of trout-guts on
its blade, fine dust, a small
piece of quartz, and coins--
the currency of this extra-time,
this one-time borrowed back.
Copyright 2010 Hans Ostrom
The Carpenter Bee
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*
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Extra-Time
I know there's no next time, each time
being one time and one life, one life.
So the thing is to work up an extra-time:
one as-if, a single could-be, or a solitary
the-way-it-was. Walk in summer
up to that old barn with its baked,
rough-milled, untreated boards that
smell so great and watch black
carpenter-bees fly into, out of, holes
that just fit their bodies, and feel the body,
yours, taut, and look and breathe
that one time as someone puts a glass jar
over a bee-hole, and the next bee out
knocks itself silly against glass but
recovers, and a Ford that isn't old
passes by--sound of radio from an open
window, sound of a busted, snarling
muffler. And there, see, are tall green
weeds and sweet-pea vines. In comes
fresh air, just as easy as that, and in
your right front pocket is a folding
knife with traces of trout-guts on
its blade, fine dust, a small
piece of quartz, and coins--
the currency of this extra-time,
this one-time borrowed back.
Copyright 2010 Hans Ostrom
The Carpenter Bee
Friday, April 16, 2010
President of the EU Writes Haiku
Herman Van Rompuy, from Belgium, is the President of the European Union, and he's just published a collection of haiku.
Here is a link to an article from Reuters online about Van Rompuy and the book.
Here is a link to an article from Reuters online about Van Rompuy and the book.
Wednesday, April 14, 2010
New Book On Creative Writing
British writer and professor Graeme Harper has just published a new book about creative writing, aptly titled On Creative Writing. A link:
On Creative Writing
On Creative Writing
Tuesday, April 13, 2010
Rae Armantrout Wins 2010 Pulitzer Prize for Poetry
Here is a link to an article about Rae Armantrout's having won the 2010 Pulitzer Prize in poetry:
Pulitzer
And a link to the book:
Versed (Wesleyan Poetry)
Pulitzer
And a link to the book:
Versed (Wesleyan Poetry)
Recommended Writer: Wendy Perriam
Not long ago I read a novel by Wendy Perriam, Coupling. It's terrific--one of those relatively rare fine novels about contemporary romance, sex, and love. The book reminded me of D.H. Lawrence's writing--with the crucial addition of subtlety, and with the addition of a more complex understanding of how people behave. There is more than a little humor as well, and the protagonist is someone you're glad to follow through a narrative. In a sense Perriam takes the venerable sub-genre of "novel of manners" and applies it deftly to our times.
Perriam is a British author of 14 novels and several short-story collections: She's also a professor.
Here is a link to her site:
Wendy Perriam
And here is a link to an article about her, her writing, a short story collection, and her experience with an awful personal loss:
Article on Perriam
And a link to Coupling (although there is a paperback edition as well):
Coupling
Perriam is a British author of 14 novels and several short-story collections: She's also a professor.
Here is a link to her site:
Wendy Perriam
And here is a link to an article about her, her writing, a short story collection, and her experience with an awful personal loss:
Article on Perriam
And a link to Coupling (although there is a paperback edition as well):
Coupling
A Writer of Parables
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A Writer of Parables
Once there was a writer of parables
who aimed to treat his readers'
maladies with narrative caplets
of wisdom. Almost no one read
his parables, for almost no one
read, and those who did read
had many reading choices. The few
who read his parables didn't know
the parables were meant instructively
to heal. They liked the parables,
however, because they were short
and crisp like chopped stalks
of celery. There was the parable
of the blind fashion-photographer;
of the return of the responsible
daughter; of the man who would play
only a rented harp; and so on.
Finally the writer of parables wrote
himself into a parable. He dissolved
into a little bit of his own home-made
wisdom and entered the bloodstream
of culture, completely absorbed.
Copyright 2010 Hans Ostrom
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A Writer of Parables
Once there was a writer of parables
who aimed to treat his readers'
maladies with narrative caplets
of wisdom. Almost no one read
his parables, for almost no one
read, and those who did read
had many reading choices. The few
who read his parables didn't know
the parables were meant instructively
to heal. They liked the parables,
however, because they were short
and crisp like chopped stalks
of celery. There was the parable
of the blind fashion-photographer;
of the return of the responsible
daughter; of the man who would play
only a rented harp; and so on.
Finally the writer of parables wrote
himself into a parable. He dissolved
into a little bit of his own home-made
wisdom and entered the bloodstream
of culture, completely absorbed.
Copyright 2010 Hans Ostrom
Monday, April 12, 2010
New Book By Stephen Bess
Here's a link to a new book by Stephen Bess, Liquid Lunch: Blues-Inspired Poems; Bess lives in Washington D.C.
Barker's Sonnet to His Mother
When I began to study poetry as an undergraduate, one of the first poems I encountered was George Barker's sonnet, "To My Mother." Here 'tis:
To My Mother
by George Barker
Most near, most dear, most loved, and most far,
Under the huge window where I often found her
Sitting as huge as Asia, seismic with laughter,
Gin and chicken helpless in her Irish hand,
Irresistible as Rabelais but most tender for
The lame dogs and hurt birds that surround her,—
She is a procession no one can follow after
But be like a little dog following a brass band.
She will not glance up at the bomber or condescend
To drop her gin and scuttle to a cellar,
But lean on the mahogany table like a mountain
Whom only faith can move, and so I send
O all her faith and all my love to tell her
That she will move from mourning into morning.
To My Mother
by George Barker
Most near, most dear, most loved, and most far,
Under the huge window where I often found her
Sitting as huge as Asia, seismic with laughter,
Gin and chicken helpless in her Irish hand,
Irresistible as Rabelais but most tender for
The lame dogs and hurt birds that surround her,—
She is a procession no one can follow after
But be like a little dog following a brass band.
She will not glance up at the bomber or condescend
To drop her gin and scuttle to a cellar,
But lean on the mahogany table like a mountain
Whom only faith can move, and so I send
O all her faith and all my love to tell her
That she will move from mourning into morning.
Saturday, April 10, 2010
Among My Favorites: Philip Larkin
British poet and librarian Philip Larkin's work is among my favorite. He possessed a distinctive lyric gift, a sometimes droll, sometimes bleak view of modern life, the city, urban isolation, and a considerable sense of humor. Probably his most famous poem is "This Be The Verse," which can probably be found online (I haven't looked). As with Dickinson, it's difficult to pick favorites, but "High Windows" and "Home Is So Sad" certainly stand out. The best thing to do is to rummage through is collected poems, though. A link to that book:
Collected Poems, by Philip Larkin
And a link to the Philip Larkin Society::
http://www.philiplarkin.com/
Collected Poems, by Philip Larkin
And a link to the Philip Larkin Society::
http://www.philiplarkin.com/
Friday, April 9, 2010
Among My Favorites: Alan Dugan
Alan Dugan (1923-2003) remains one of my favorite poets. His work earned him a Yale Younger Poet award and a Pulitzer Prize. His poems tend to be quick and terse--bursts of direct first-person utterance; they're very smart but also accessible. One of my favorites by him is "Love Song: I and Thou," which in part concerns trying to build a new house. There is also a poem about an new bridge that is actually an old bridge.
Dugan titled his books simply Poems, Poems 2, Poems 3, and so on--up to 7, which is a collected poems edition.
A link to more information about Dugan.
Dugan titled his books simply Poems, Poems 2, Poems 3, and so on--up to 7, which is a collected poems edition.
A link to more information about Dugan.
Thursday, April 8, 2010
Among My Favorites: James Cervantes
. . . And in another National Poetry Month episode of "Among My Favorites," I'll note that James Cervantes, professor and poet, is among my favorites. Here is a link to his site, which includes some terrific poems:
James Cervantes
And here is a link to a book:
Temporary Meaning: Poems, by James Cerantes
James Cervantes
And here is a link to a book:
Temporary Meaning: Poems, by James Cerantes
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