Monday, September 24, 2012
The Commonplace Sage
The sage on the mountain's a commonplace
sage. He's suspicious of gurus. He invites
you to spend only what you have, buy
no more than you need. The commonplace
sage tells poets they're only as good
as their latest poem. A laurel's just
a shrub. The sage says if you want
to argue politics, debate yourself.
Sage suggests you re-familiarize
yourself with arithmetic, popular
music, and the software known
as Crap Detector 2.0. Thinks
you might want to find the good
sense you misplaced when you
were a big deal there for a while.
This common sage sings a tune
or two, and wow: here comes a
herd of memories across a neon
pasture, and the needed card
floats up on the river, and
Frank Zappa clowns around in
sage. He's suspicious of gurus. He invites
you to spend only what you have, buy
no more than you need. The commonplace
sage tells poets they're only as good
as their latest poem. A laurel's just
a shrub. The sage says if you want
to argue politics, debate yourself.
Sage suggests you re-familiarize
yourself with arithmetic, popular
music, and the software known
as Crap Detector 2.0. Thinks
you might want to find the good
sense you misplaced when you
were a big deal there for a while.
This common sage sings a tune
or two, and wow: here comes a
herd of memories across a neon
pasture, and the needed card
floats up on the river, and
Frank Zappa clowns around in
heaven with Steve Allen's toupé.
Hans Ostrom, 2012
People Who Go Fishing
We sit. We stand. We walk
and wade and float and wait.
We work with things
from a diminutive realm:
string, bits of cloth, feathers,
miniature coins and jewelry,
lead pearls, worms, tiny eggs,
eyelets, small wheels, thin sticks.
Like psychologists, geologists,
and those obsessed with Hell,
we're obsessed with a submerged
dominion, about which we invent
myths, toward which we harbor
resentments, and into which
we cast gleaming desires.
We are deceivers of water-creatures.
We are lords of the sky-world.
We do not travel water to get somewhere.
To us, Odysseus was an abject fool.
Our world is lyric, not epic. Ahab
was a reckless tourist. Jonah was bait.
And yes, we know whales aren't fish,
so be quiet. Ssshhh! Did you hear that?
Did you feel that? We live for small
signs of animated resistance, for
the life on the line. No, it is not
time to go. There is plenty of light left.
Hans Ostrom, 2012
and wade and float and wait.
We work with things
from a diminutive realm:
string, bits of cloth, feathers,
miniature coins and jewelry,
lead pearls, worms, tiny eggs,
eyelets, small wheels, thin sticks.
Like psychologists, geologists,
and those obsessed with Hell,
we're obsessed with a submerged
dominion, about which we invent
myths, toward which we harbor
resentments, and into which
we cast gleaming desires.
We are deceivers of water-creatures.
We are lords of the sky-world.
We do not travel water to get somewhere.
To us, Odysseus was an abject fool.
Our world is lyric, not epic. Ahab
was a reckless tourist. Jonah was bait.
And yes, we know whales aren't fish,
so be quiet. Ssshhh! Did you hear that?
Did you feel that? We live for small
signs of animated resistance, for
the life on the line. No, it is not
time to go. There is plenty of light left.
Hans Ostrom, 2012
Saturday, September 22, 2012
Hiram Goes to Cafe Fear
(another in a series of "Hiram" poems)
Hiram Goes To Café Fear
Hiram thinks, “Here I am sitting inside
my shirt, shoes, and trousers, on a chair
at a table in a café.
I am afraid
of dying. Also of
nothing. I tell
a waitress what I want for lunch.
She brings it. I eat
it, holding off
fear for a while. I
don’t know
who or why I am. I am
aware
of sitting, afraid, inside my clothes
and body. This is me,
I think.
So this is me and this my fear.”
Hans Ostrom, 2012
Spiders' Migration
(re-posting a seasonal poem)
Spiders' Migration
Spiders' Migration
Northern Hemisphere, September: spiders
come inside. They
slip through seams
to here, where summer seems to them
to spend the winter.
Their digits tap out
code on hardwood floors.
They rappel
from ceilings on out-spooled filaments
of mucous, measuring the place. Sometimes
they stay just still.
Paused. Poised.
It’s not as if spiders wait for us
to watch them, or even as if they
wait. Rather,
octavian motion
is so easy, syncopated, and several
that stillness surely exhilarates spiders
just arriving from the Northern Hemisphere.
It’s time for us to enter equal days and
equal nights, to pluck the filament between
fear of and fascination with spiders
moving in.
Hans Ostrom, 2012
Friday, September 21, 2012
This Happens To Be It
All right, thought Hiram,
this happens to be it--
what is real. I am
walking home on a sidewalk,
and I am drunk,
and I am passing by
a twenty-foot boat
that is situated
between the sidewalk
and someone's yard,
and sophisticated engines
driving cars
are passing me,
and I look at my distorted
shadow exactly
as I did when I was seven
years old: it is
that elongated,
legs-go-forever
shadow. And I am:
so what? And I
am walking home,
knowing the way,
what is home (?),
what is the way (?),
is this what is (?),
and I must go on
as if this is what is,
and I keep walking.
Hans Ostrom, 2012
this happens to be it--
what is real. I am
walking home on a sidewalk,
and I am drunk,
and I am passing by
a twenty-foot boat
that is situated
between the sidewalk
and someone's yard,
and sophisticated engines
driving cars
are passing me,
and I look at my distorted
shadow exactly
as I did when I was seven
years old: it is
that elongated,
legs-go-forever
shadow. And I am:
so what? And I
am walking home,
knowing the way,
what is home (?),
what is the way (?),
is this what is (?),
and I must go on
as if this is what is,
and I keep walking.
Hans Ostrom, 2012
Saloon Statment
You know (she said),
it's very important
to remember
the difference between
getting crazy
and
just being
a little
bit
drunk,
okay?
Hans Ostrom, 2012
it's very important
to remember
the difference between
getting crazy
and
just being
a little
bit
drunk,
okay?
Hans Ostrom, 2012
Poem: Not Safe For Work?
Not Safe For Work?
I'll tell you what's
not safe for work,
says the waitress dead
on her feet;
the roofer in 104 degree
heat; the
truck driver, fire
fighter, soldier,
foundry worker,
heat-vent installer.
I'll tell you what's
not safe
for work, says
the warehouse-worker, the
unveiled woman, the
veiled woman, oil-
driller, welder,
seamstress, factory-
worker. What's
not safe for work is
work.
Hans Ostrom, 2012
I'll tell you what's
not safe for work,
says the waitress dead
on her feet;
the roofer in 104 degree
heat; the
truck driver, fire
fighter, soldier,
foundry worker,
heat-vent installer.
I'll tell you what's
not safe
for work, says
the warehouse-worker, the
unveiled woman, the
veiled woman, oil-
driller, welder,
seamstress, factory-
worker. What's
not safe for work is
work.
Hans Ostrom, 2012
Thursday, September 20, 2012
Found Poem: Followed
the new sexy
you
is following
you
would you
like to follow
the new sexy
you?
hans ostrom
you
is following
you
would you
like to follow
the new sexy
you?
hans ostrom
Wednesday, September 19, 2012
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)