Impertinence
If you are told you've been impertinent,
It doesn't mean your comments don't pertain.
Indeed it means they have been relevant,
And to the listener, they've caused a strain.
There is a chance of course you have been rude.
More likely though you've irked authority
And sparked in it a harsh, parental mood,
And a desire to guard territory.
So: insubordinate is what you've been,
Presuming to be level with the boss.
The power wants you docile like some moss.
Let us suggest then that "impertinent"
Is rather, roundabout, a compliment.
Copyright 2010 Hans Ostrom
Wednesday, December 29, 2010
Tuesday, December 28, 2010
Unit of Time
Unit of Time
There's only one legitimate unit of time.
We call it (in English) "time" or "Time."
We move through this infinite
unit, so we need to invent parts
where none exist.. If Time
had a point of view, it might look
at second, decade, billion years,
and yesterday, and think, "Huh?"
To Time, all attempted parsings
of it must appear to be nonsense,
a waste of our time, but not of
time, none of which ever elapses,
or can be wasted.
Copyright 2010 Hans Ostrom
There's only one legitimate unit of time.
We call it (in English) "time" or "Time."
We move through this infinite
unit, so we need to invent parts
where none exist.. If Time
had a point of view, it might look
at second, decade, billion years,
and yesterday, and think, "Huh?"
To Time, all attempted parsings
of it must appear to be nonsense,
a waste of our time, but not of
time, none of which ever elapses,
or can be wasted.
Copyright 2010 Hans Ostrom
Yoga Poem #6
Yoga Poem #6
All right, it's pigeon's pose again.
My hips and knees confer briefly,
then issue a joint-statement to me:
Go to Hell. I look like a dinosaur-bird
brought down by a lightning bolt.
From distant corners of the Yoga
World, assistants rush to prop me up.
I am a Yoga Emergency.
Incidentally, I've never seen
a pigeon sit this way, but this
is a mere quibble, a coo.
The flexible women in class
seem to reach this pose with ease.
So I think of them, kindly, as doves.
I like these difficult poses because
they make life's absurdity plain. Here
I am, gnarled legs on red mat,
because I think it's good for me,
and it is good for me. Wow. Now
the women, the doves, lift off!
They fly around the room above
me, they roost on the air duct,
and they coo happily! Okay,
not really, but now we're in
forward-fold, and I'm so
relieved I hallucinate mildly.
Copyright 2010 Hans Ostrom
Monday, December 27, 2010
Sunday, December 26, 2010
Yoga Poem #5
Yoga Poem #5
I'm not sure what war
they were fighting with
the warrior poses, but
I deduce the stakes
weren't very high.
Back off, enemy mine,
or I shall bend my knee
slightly further!
If only we could evolve
to such a state--in which
warriors are able only
to pose, all occupying
higher ground.
Copyright 2010 Hans Ostrom
I'm not sure what war
they were fighting with
the warrior poses, but
I deduce the stakes
weren't very high.
Back off, enemy mine,
or I shall bend my knee
slightly further!
If only we could evolve
to such a state--in which
warriors are able only
to pose, all occupying
higher ground.
Copyright 2010 Hans Ostrom
Yoga Poem #4
Yoga Poem #4
I tried Bikram yoga--twice. "The second
visit means you're stupid," a close advisor
said. The instructor copped the attitude
of a fussy German bureaucrat, and her
male assistant acted like her pet. Hand-
lettered signs adorned the place
concerning what and what not
to do. The room was too goddamned
hot: Ockham's Razor slices through
the Bikram. So as not to stroke out,
I finally just lay on my mat, opened
my mouth as I'd seen hot hounds do,
and rested like a tranquilized polar bear.
The instructor approached, loomed over
me with her microphone headset, said,
"You must close your mouth. Otherwise,
we'll think you're dead." I found her
concern touching. In the locker-room
afterward, three of us commiserated,
heads smoking. One guy made a business-
call on his cell-phone. The assistant appeared--
having been eavesdropping, it seemed. He
ordered, "No cell-phones in the building."
When somebody starts trying to control
your behavior beyond the mat, you have
the makings of a cult. And as they say
in Zen business school, "Don't forget
who the customer is, grasshopper."
But at the other yoga place now, I've
been encouraged to let such attachments
go before beginning the session's practice.
So I'm letting go of oven-yoga. Really.
I'm really letting go of it. After all, some
people seem to like it.
Copyright 2010 Hans Ostrom
I tried Bikram yoga--twice. "The second
visit means you're stupid," a close advisor
said. The instructor copped the attitude
of a fussy German bureaucrat, and her
male assistant acted like her pet. Hand-
lettered signs adorned the place
concerning what and what not
to do. The room was too goddamned
hot: Ockham's Razor slices through
the Bikram. So as not to stroke out,
I finally just lay on my mat, opened
my mouth as I'd seen hot hounds do,
and rested like a tranquilized polar bear.
The instructor approached, loomed over
me with her microphone headset, said,
"You must close your mouth. Otherwise,
we'll think you're dead." I found her
concern touching. In the locker-room
afterward, three of us commiserated,
heads smoking. One guy made a business-
call on his cell-phone. The assistant appeared--
having been eavesdropping, it seemed. He
ordered, "No cell-phones in the building."
When somebody starts trying to control
your behavior beyond the mat, you have
the makings of a cult. And as they say
in Zen business school, "Don't forget
who the customer is, grasshopper."
But at the other yoga place now, I've
been encouraged to let such attachments
go before beginning the session's practice.
So I'm letting go of oven-yoga. Really.
I'm really letting go of it. After all, some
people seem to like it.
Copyright 2010 Hans Ostrom
Poe Sonnet
Poe Sonnet
He was so utterly American,
Careening through his life deliberately,
Addicted to both impulse and ambition.
He wrote for art and also for the money.
New England and the South converged in him,
Dividing up his traits chaotically:
Roderick Usher and A. Gordon Pym.
He wielded gothic excess gleefully.
In Hollywood he'd find himself today,
Overindulged, in rehab, overpaid.
Over-the-top was Edgar Allan's way.
He always led imagination on a raid.
Gargantuan and childish, you know:
The disunited state of E.A. Poe.
Copyright 2010 Hans Ostrom
He was so utterly American,
Careening through his life deliberately,
Addicted to both impulse and ambition.
He wrote for art and also for the money.
New England and the South converged in him,
Dividing up his traits chaotically:
Roderick Usher and A. Gordon Pym.
He wielded gothic excess gleefully.
In Hollywood he'd find himself today,
Overindulged, in rehab, overpaid.
Over-the-top was Edgar Allan's way.
He always led imagination on a raid.
Gargantuan and childish, you know:
The disunited state of E.A. Poe.
Copyright 2010 Hans Ostrom
Saturday, December 25, 2010
Friday, December 24, 2010
Wednesday, December 22, 2010
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