Friday, September 11, 2020

Coffee

Of course the coffee nodule
is neither cherry nor berry,
just as you are neither you nor

you before "you" hold the ceramic
cup in that sacred way and weigh
it gratefully, and wait for your hands

to say when the temperature
of the darkness
will love your tongue and mouth

best. You sip and smell
simultaneously. You are soothed.
You are less dim. The sun

rises just above the blue rim
of your stupor. Shapes of
thought become visible,

work becomes viable,
wants become focused.
O thank you Arabia,

thank you Ethiopia,
thank you Sudan and South
America, Indonesia . . .

Such chants continue
silently in your mind,
which small sips of shade

have clarified. Your heart
stumbles into a pace
that brings awareness

to your brain in soft
brown sacks. You begin to flirt
with thought, consider

sociability, tolerate noise,
nearly nod Yes to  life.
You want to tell coffee again

that you love it, but you’re not
quite ready to speak,
and anyway coffee knows.

coffee knows, knows what you need.


hans ostrom 2020

Thursday, September 10, 2020

"Survivor," by Roger McGough

 A very short droll poem by Roger McGough--reading/video:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vcZSe6uYQbo


Please Feel Sorry for Yourself

Stop feeling sorry for yourself. Such
a tedious rebuke. Often followed
by words about gratitude or
comparative well being. 

I encourage you to feel sorry
for yourself. Feel sorry for other
people, too, but save some for yourself.

Properly calibrated, self-sympathy
dulls disappointment's edge. It can
soothe depression when you're lying
there staring into your mind like it was
a dark, fishless aquarium. 

The pleasure of self-pity
is under-rated. Indeed I think
some people try to shame you
out of it because they think
you might be enjoying it.
I feel sorry for them. 


hans ostrom 

Thanks for Coming

Thanks for coming. 
I was delighted to play
a role in your arrival,
at which point you
uttered words with no
definition but much
meaning. I'm reminded
how pleasant it is to witness
someone's pleasure,
to be brought into it, to
hold it in your hands,
as it were, like a shivering
bird about to be released.
Thanks for coming.


hans ostrom 2020

Grateful for Grasshoppers

Just realized I'd yet to compliment
Life on providing grasshoppers
in the field buttressed by
Sierra Nevada peaks. They

launched themselves, those
bugs, with catapult back legs,
and tried to stay aloft with weighty
art deco wings. The theater 

of tall grass and weeds featured
jazz parabolas, careening leaps,
and caroms off my legs and chest
and cheeks. A festival, a rite!

Bug ballet, nothing like it.
Butterflies applauded. Thank you. 


hans ostrom 2020


Monday, September 7, 2020

Interview with Lolly Vegas of Redbone

 First the universe came into being, then the Earth cooled, and finally the 1970s happened. The best-selling pop/rock song in the U.S. in 1974, I am told, was "Come and Get Your Love," by a Native American group called Redbone, headed up by Lolly and Pat Vegas, who were from a town near Fresno, California. The version of the song from "Midnight Special" on Youtube is pretty good, I think. I always liked the funkiness of the song. 

In 2006 Lolly Vegas was interviewed. Good to hear his history of his music:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=klShZ7iYUOg

Rest in Peace, Lolly Vegas.

"The Garden," by Jacques Prévert

 Video/reading of a short poem by Prévert (1900-1977), translated by Alastair Campbell--grateful acknowledgement to him: 

Link:

 Prévert







Saturday, September 5, 2020

Friday, September 4, 2020

My Journey of Self-Discovery: Postponed

 Once more I've had
to postpone my journey
of self-discovery. Just

too many other things
to do. Cooking, cleaning,
sleeping, reading. In
theory, sex. Plus there's
the old, yet to be solved

problem: what would 
I do at the end of my 
journey of self-discovery?
Write a report? Say
"Nice to meet you"?

I think it would be very
awkward to converse
with my self-discovered self. 


hans ostrom 2020

The Novel of Your Life

The novel of life
goes along and then
the letters, words,
sentences, and paragraphs
start slipping off the page
until finally, all blank 
pages. It's the novel

only you get to read 
all the way through,
through to the end.

It's your favorite 
novel because no one
wrote it, not even you.


hans ostrom 2020



From a Diary of the Plague Year (18)

 (housebound)


the cat looks out a window I

look at the cat, which looks

at its paw and then at the woman

who looks at the cat and then

looks at me, who is looking out

a window and then looking at

the woman, who says "why

are you looking at me that

way?" and I say "what way?"

and she shakes her head 

and looks at the cat and

the cat looks out a window


hans ostrom 2020



Avocado

And here we have 
a globular gem
encased in a clear
sunrise over bright
green hills. All is 
finished in fine,
pebbled leather
that ages toward black.

The name became
hybridized, starting
as the native plant
ahuacatl, shifting into
aguacate, settling
into avocado
which resonates
with the sound 
of a secret and just
society.

After disassembling
and devouring one,
we always wish to do
something with the hard
sphere surviving--
perhaps invent a sport
around it, such as
avocado billiards
or symbolic soccer.

But we feel a bit 
lethargic after ingesting
yellow and green.
Waking from a nap,
we notice once again
that the little brown
planet has left our
solar system. 


hans ostrom 2020