Saturday, June 16, 2012
Thursday, June 14, 2012
Jury Duty
We passed through voi
dir,
my dear, were made peers
of a rococo realm, with its
perched presider and purchased
persuaders. We nodded
at passing
evidence, became a dozen guilty
buzzards asked to shadow
a creature offered on an altar
called The People. We
heard
arguments open and close
like shutters banging in the wind.
In a room, our opinions
accumulated like snow.
In that
drift was buried our decision,
which we seized. The
facts had
whispered to us, “He is guilty.”
We listened to them and repeated
what they said. The
defendant
bowed his head.
Shadows
of our doubt followed us outside,
where, greasy-winged, we joined
The People leading perfectly
legal lives.
--Hans Ostrom, copyright 2012
Wednesday, June 13, 2012
Tuesday, June 12, 2012
Monday, June 11, 2012
Saturday, June 9, 2012
Experimental Aircraft
[one from Red Tales, another blog I keep]
Once there was a woman who wished she didn't know so many things for sure. She'd learned not to try to convince people of what she knew, for they believed they knew things for sure, too. Arguing fatigued her. Besides, eventualities would demonstrate what was true better than she could: this she knew, too.
For instance, her husband took up the hobby of flying small experimental aircraft. When he'd told her of this new pursuit, she'd said, "I love you, and consider the word 'experimental,' please. When a cook experiments with a spice and fails, the result is merely an unappealing dish. When an experiment in aviation fails, gravity wrecks." Her husband had scoffed. He was jolly.
Later, when he showed her a red aircraft of startling design, she knew the plane would fail--before takeoff, she hoped. The experimental aircraft simply looked too much like art and not enough like engineering to be competent in the sky.
News of the fatal crash shocked her though she wasn't surprised. She grieved deeply. There's knowing, and then there's experiencing. Several weeks later, an attorney informed her that although her husband had intended to purchase more life insurance, he hadn't gotten around to doing so. There was some insurance, some money, but not a lot, the lawyer said. Her husband hadn't secured her economic future.
"I know," the woman said. "It's the way he was, and it's the way things are." She didn't mention how she knew that, as the plane approached the water, her husband had said "I'm sorry" to her, as if she were in the cockpit.
The little red plane didn't have a little black box, so there was no recording of her husband's last words. This absence pleased the woman, for she'd always preferred the knowing over the proof, wisdom over argument, and information over events, which could be brutal.
--Hans Ostrom, copyright 2012
Once there was a woman who wished she didn't know so many things for sure. She'd learned not to try to convince people of what she knew, for they believed they knew things for sure, too. Arguing fatigued her. Besides, eventualities would demonstrate what was true better than she could: this she knew, too.
For instance, her husband took up the hobby of flying small experimental aircraft. When he'd told her of this new pursuit, she'd said, "I love you, and consider the word 'experimental,' please. When a cook experiments with a spice and fails, the result is merely an unappealing dish. When an experiment in aviation fails, gravity wrecks." Her husband had scoffed. He was jolly.
Later, when he showed her a red aircraft of startling design, she knew the plane would fail--before takeoff, she hoped. The experimental aircraft simply looked too much like art and not enough like engineering to be competent in the sky.
News of the fatal crash shocked her though she wasn't surprised. She grieved deeply. There's knowing, and then there's experiencing. Several weeks later, an attorney informed her that although her husband had intended to purchase more life insurance, he hadn't gotten around to doing so. There was some insurance, some money, but not a lot, the lawyer said. Her husband hadn't secured her economic future.
"I know," the woman said. "It's the way he was, and it's the way things are." She didn't mention how she knew that, as the plane approached the water, her husband had said "I'm sorry" to her, as if she were in the cockpit.
The little red plane didn't have a little black box, so there was no recording of her husband's last words. This absence pleased the woman, for she'd always preferred the knowing over the proof, wisdom over argument, and information over events, which could be brutal.
--Hans Ostrom, copyright 2012
Friday, June 8, 2012
Wednesday, June 6, 2012
Two Aphorisms About Poetry
There's kind of a good news/bad news thing about aphorisms. The fact that someone would write an aphorism, and call it that, and make it public suggests a level of arrogance: "Hey, I'm about to impart some wisdom--uh, pithily." "Is that so? Well, I can't wait."
Good news: the pithy part. It's all over very quickly.
2.. Poetry concerns what most people--for many reasons, some of them excellent--prefer not to think about. Sometimes one of these people reads a poem and afterwards is glad he or she read it and thought about whatever it was the poem concerned.
2. In one respect, poetry is like petrified wood, for it intrigues not because of what it is but because of what it seems to be.
--Hans Ostrom
Good news: the pithy part. It's all over very quickly.
2.. Poetry concerns what most people--for many reasons, some of them excellent--prefer not to think about. Sometimes one of these people reads a poem and afterwards is glad he or she read it and thought about whatever it was the poem concerned.
2. In one respect, poetry is like petrified wood, for it intrigues not because of what it is but because of what it seems to be.
--Hans Ostrom
Tuesday, June 5, 2012
Used to Be a Place
There used to be a place.
Remember? It was a shop
next to that other place we
used to go. That was back
when we knew were to go,
knew who'd be there when
we went, what would be said
and bought and sold. We
knew where sunlight would fall,
but even those angles have
changed since then. So many
places have replaced those places
and so on. That's retail for you:
a series of disappearances adding
up to bewilderment, plus tax.
Copyright 2012 Hans Ostrom
Remember? It was a shop
next to that other place we
used to go. That was back
when we knew were to go,
knew who'd be there when
we went, what would be said
and bought and sold. We
knew where sunlight would fall,
but even those angles have
changed since then. So many
places have replaced those places
and so on. That's retail for you:
a series of disappearances adding
up to bewilderment, plus tax.
Copyright 2012 Hans Ostrom
Tuesday, May 29, 2012
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