Reading/video of a four-line poem (I think we call that a quatrain) by Robert Frost:
Saturday, September 26, 2020
"Gift," by Czeslaw Milosz
Reading/video of a short poem by Milosz, the Nobel Prize winning Polish poet:
Thursday, September 24, 2020
The Pink Pistil
a resting cat
opens its mouth
wide so I
can see its
narrow wet tongue
lengthen then curl
like the pink
pistil of a
tropical flower and
I hear hordes
of birds singing
chirping laughing safely
in the canopy.
hans ostrom 2020
In Which Small Creatures Crawl
With time, after time, success
and failure blend into
a warm tide pool
in which small creatures
crawl. "That's all?"
can be asked, rhetorically,
of both success and failure
and even doing just all right.
Asking it just might be a sign
of spiritual growth or of
something less grandiose,
like relaxing or looking
outward, or earned indifference
to worldly weights and standards.
hans ostrom
Tuesday, September 22, 2020
"At the Bottom of Things," by Karin Boye
A poem by Swedish Modernist poet Karin Boye (1900-1941), translated by David McDuff, who translated her Collected Poems from Bloodaxe Books. Reading/video:
Sunday, September 20, 2020
Poet's Musings: "For Librarians," by Hans Ostrom
Re-posting one from 10 years ago, since we're celebrating libraries/librarians:
"Library Ode," by Philip Larkin
Libraries seem more important than ever in these anti-intellectual, anti-science times. Here's a short tribute-poem to them by Philip Larkin--reading/video:
Saturday, September 19, 2020
Friday, September 18, 2020
"Step Out Onto the Planet," by Lew Welch
A short poem by Beat writer Lew Welch. Welch (1926-1971) was an important poet and teacher in the San Francisco Renaissance/Beat Movement. For a time, he functioned as the step-father of the lad who would adopt the performer's name, Huey Lewis. Welch is presumed to have committed suicide on May 26, 1971, in the Sierra Nevada. His body has never been found. City Lights Books published his Collected Poems (Ring of Bone) in 2012, with an afterword by Gary Snyder, who was Welch's roommate at Reed College. Reading/video:
What the Hell is Going On Around Here?
What the hell is going on? What
is this recklessness? Leaders
and followers, people we knew,
they see forests burning and laugh,
see murder and justify it, see
common sense and start screaming
and rolling around on the floor
like Hitler and vomit
deranged racist speech.
They say it's their civil right
to sneeze viral mucous in my face.
They say they're all about the
White Race, which--this just in--
doesn't exist. We're all humans.
One species. Google it.
Is it a pill? Propaganda?
What makes them insanely
lethal and lethally insane?
A drug? Hypnosis? A hustler
with a blond barge atop his head?
A yearning for a violent absolute?
(I refer my colleague to the comment
about Hitler I made moments ago.)
What is this burning of science
at the stake? This goddamn
making shit up and trying to
wing it when knowledge can
put things right? This living
in White basements and thinking
that they're the whole world?
What the hell is going on around here?
It's a drunken parade with guns, a pageant
of stupidity, a carnival of hatred.
Grow up, wash your hands but
don't wash your hands like Pilate,
pretend the facts are true: a mask
is good for me and you. Broaden
your horizons. Read some books.
Listen to Duke Ellington. Smash
your shrunken-head view
of a fantasy America. Stop
fearing people you don't know.
Leave the cult. Listen to your children.
Settle the fuck down. What the hell!
What the hell is going on around here?
hans ostrom 2020
Wednesday, September 16, 2020
"Chance Meetings," by Conrad Aiken
A reading/video of a poem by Conrad Aiken, American poet who won the Pulitzer Prize and the National Book Award:
"Lines Written at the Grave of Alexandre Dumas," by Gwendolyn Bennett
Harlem Renaissance writer Gwendolyn Bennett wrote this poem about the great adventure-novelist Alexandre Dumas (The Count of Monte Cristo, The Three Musketeers, etc.), whose father was French and whose mother was African--and a former slave:
Goat Island
On that island wild goats
climb cliffs. Women
govern the place, living
mostly in the mountains.
It is a matriarchy,
which, based on reason
and evidence, advises
the citizenry, including men,
what to do. I've sent for a
brochure. I'm not sure
if I want to apply to live
there. But I'm a man,
and I don't mind being
directed by experts,
especially if they're women.
Apparently the fishing
is good, there's a solid
poetic tradition, and live
music thrives. I'll let you
know what happens with
me and Goat Island.
hans ostrom 2020
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