Thursday, January 17, 2013
Tuesday, January 15, 2013
Gothic Fog
He stepped outside
and rubbed the fog,
its pliant hide. What's
inside you? he asked.
No answer. Just muffled
rumblings. Suddenly
a woman's hand emerged,
caressed his cheek and neck.
"Come in," a female voice
said clearly. He entered
the fog. In there, faces floated
like unlit paper lanterns.
A chorus of moans arose.
He turned to escape, but
elsewhere had vanished.
He was inside the fog now.
He moaned.
hans ostrom, 2013
and rubbed the fog,
its pliant hide. What's
inside you? he asked.
No answer. Just muffled
rumblings. Suddenly
a woman's hand emerged,
caressed his cheek and neck.
"Come in," a female voice
said clearly. He entered
the fog. In there, faces floated
like unlit paper lanterns.
A chorus of moans arose.
He turned to escape, but
elsewhere had vanished.
He was inside the fog now.
He moaned.
hans ostrom, 2013
Gardener's Soft Porn
After the first seed-catalogue
arrives in Winter, I paw through
it as eagerly as I gawked
at my older brother's
Playboy when I was 15.
hans ostrom, 2013
arrives in Winter, I paw through
it as eagerly as I gawked
at my older brother's
Playboy when I was 15.
hans ostrom, 2013
Monday, January 7, 2013
Poet's Musings: Torture
Re-posting one from 4 years ago.
Link below:
Poet's Musings: Torture: In a discussion-group recently, we read Poems From Guantanamo, edited by Marc Falkoff. As you might guess from the title, the poems were wr...
Link below:
Poet's Musings: Torture: In a discussion-group recently, we read Poems From Guantanamo, edited by Marc Falkoff. As you might guess from the title, the poems were wr...
Waltzing
Oh, let us hold
each other turning
slowly ‘round
the floor. A waltz
is humorous
and kind, old-
fashioned intimate.
We’re a little high.
Oh, the perfume
of your hair, the
architecture of
your back, the
present of the
presence of
your hand in mine.
Hans Ostrom, 2013
each other turning
slowly ‘round
the floor. A waltz
is humorous
and kind, old-
fashioned intimate.
We’re a little high.
Oh, the perfume
of your hair, the
architecture of
your back, the
present of the
presence of
your hand in mine.
Hans Ostrom, 2013
Friday, January 4, 2013
Over, and Not Over
the big election is over
the most recent atrocity is over
the most recent Winter holidays are over
also the latest predicted apocalypse, over
the morning news, over
cup of coffee, over
cats fed, over
work, work--over
not over is
my lifelong
need to do
things for
people &
worry about
keeping
them pleased so
that i may get
some
sense of my
worth. this search
for worth, not over.
Hans Ostrom 2013
the most recent atrocity is over
the most recent Winter holidays are over
also the latest predicted apocalypse, over
the morning news, over
cup of coffee, over
cats fed, over
work, work--over
not over is
my lifelong
need to do
things for
people &
worry about
keeping
them pleased so
that i may get
some
sense of my
worth. this search
for worth, not over.
Hans Ostrom 2013
Zen Treasure-Map
On a Zen treasure-map,
there’s an X but no lines
or place-names. The four
directions are all marked E.
What you do is, you carry
the map with you at all times
and assume wherever you are,
is X—where treasure lies!
Hans Ostrom, 2013
there’s an X but no lines
or place-names. The four
directions are all marked E.
What you do is, you carry
the map with you at all times
and assume wherever you are,
is X—where treasure lies!
Hans Ostrom, 2013
Wednesday, January 2, 2013
Sex in a Graveyard
We were all sinew and youth,
impulse, tendon, and sex.
When we fucked in the graveyard,
we probably didn’t think
of ourselves as fucking…
We didn’t think of desecration.
Or of ghosts. We lay on cool
concrete that topped a tomb.
We heard creatures stir: I
suspected a doe in the sweet-pea
vines that covered the wire fences.
Moonlight made it through
the canopy of old oak branches
and shone on your body as it
arced above mine: rib-cage,
nipples, breasts, neck, hair,
face, abdomen.. . . Afterwards,
you clutched me close, on top of
me who lay on top of corpses.
Young, anyone might fuck
in a graveyard. Later, they’ll
think of the holding-close, the clutching,
the chill on flesh, everything that happens
before, and after.
Hans Ostrom 2013
impulse, tendon, and sex.
When we fucked in the graveyard,
we probably didn’t think
of ourselves as fucking…
We didn’t think of desecration.
Or of ghosts. We lay on cool
concrete that topped a tomb.
We heard creatures stir: I
suspected a doe in the sweet-pea
vines that covered the wire fences.
Moonlight made it through
the canopy of old oak branches
and shone on your body as it
arced above mine: rib-cage,
nipples, breasts, neck, hair,
face, abdomen.. . . Afterwards,
you clutched me close, on top of
me who lay on top of corpses.
Young, anyone might fuck
in a graveyard. Later, they’ll
think of the holding-close, the clutching,
the chill on flesh, everything that happens
before, and after.
Hans Ostrom 2013
Saturday, December 29, 2012
Thursday, December 27, 2012
The Number of Likes in the New Era
(found language)
i want to puke bc
my friends' lives now revolve
around the number of likes their pictures get on facebook
and instagram and there are only a handful left who still have souls
so who wants to be my friend
hans ostrom 2012
i want to puke bc
my friends' lives now revolve
around the number of likes their pictures get on facebook
and instagram and there are only a handful left who still have souls
so who wants to be my friend
hans ostrom 2012
I Like your URL: Compliments in the New Era
(found language)
I like your URL
and seriously enjoy your blog
One of muh favs! :3
And your smiles amazuhn! Lol
and you are so not rude. Lol
you're seriously love
on here, though--
like one person says something and
10 peeps back you up(: I enjoy that.
hans ostrom 2012
I like your URL
and seriously enjoy your blog
One of muh favs! :3
And your smiles amazuhn! Lol
and you are so not rude. Lol
you're seriously love
on here, though--
like one person says something and
10 peeps back you up(: I enjoy that.
hans ostrom 2012
Wednesday, December 26, 2012
Cousins of Tumblr
bumblr
cumblr
dumblr
fumblr
gumblr
humblr
jumblr
lumbrblr
mumblr
numblr
plumblr
quotumblr
rumblr
summrblur
[ ]
vumblr
wumblr
xumblr
yumblr
zumblr
hans ostrom
cumblr
dumblr
fumblr
gumblr
humblr
jumblr
lumbrblr
mumblr
numblr
plumblr
quotumblr
rumblr
summrblur
[ ]
vumblr
wumblr
xumblr
yumblr
zumblr
hans ostrom
Monday, December 24, 2012
Sunday, December 23, 2012
Translation by Kenneth Rexroth
Someone told me it's Kenneth Rexroth's birthday today.
Here is link to a reading of a translation by him of a Chinese poem:
"Starting at Dawn"
Here is link to a reading of a translation by him of a Chinese poem:
"Starting at Dawn"
Friday, December 21, 2012
Wednesday, December 19, 2012
i have seen the people
i have seen the people walking
in cities and talking to the things held up
to their ears. i have seen the people
everywhere looking down at these things
in their hands and tapping at the things
with their fingers the way raccoons
touch moonlit water. the things sometimes
illumine the faces of the people
as if to say, “here, here is light to light
your face as you look at this thin thing and tap
with your fingers.” sometimes i have wanted
to make love to some of the women who look down
at their the things in their hands and tap
with their fingers. it is an idle desire, a fancy.
even i do not take it seriously, i say to you.
i say to you, let the people
talk to the things held up to their ears.
let them tap with their fingers.
let them communicate the living hell
out of life and leave messages and
send texts, summon maps, download
apps, and upload lodes of info-laden
digitation. i say to you let the people
update, and let them post. if i
should be talking to you
in a cafe and briefly take a rhetorical
stand in favor of intimacy and sex
in place of the way people work with
these thin things they hold
in their hands, please ignore me.
i say to you, i am
not always so old-fashioned, out-of-step,
and creepy. i say to you, even as you may
sit across from me, yes, to ahead and
tap on that thing, hold
it up to your year, speak into it, and listen.
update and post. save and delete.
i say to you i can wait. i will think thoughts.
Hans Ostrom, 2012
in cities and talking to the things held up
to their ears. i have seen the people
everywhere looking down at these things
in their hands and tapping at the things
with their fingers the way raccoons
touch moonlit water. the things sometimes
illumine the faces of the people
as if to say, “here, here is light to light
your face as you look at this thin thing and tap
with your fingers.” sometimes i have wanted
to make love to some of the women who look down
at their the things in their hands and tap
with their fingers. it is an idle desire, a fancy.
even i do not take it seriously, i say to you.
i say to you, let the people
talk to the things held up to their ears.
let them tap with their fingers.
let them communicate the living hell
out of life and leave messages and
send texts, summon maps, download
apps, and upload lodes of info-laden
digitation. i say to you let the people
update, and let them post. if i
should be talking to you
in a cafe and briefly take a rhetorical
stand in favor of intimacy and sex
in place of the way people work with
these thin things they hold
in their hands, please ignore me.
i say to you, i am
not always so old-fashioned, out-of-step,
and creepy. i say to you, even as you may
sit across from me, yes, to ahead and
tap on that thing, hold
it up to your year, speak into it, and listen.
update and post. save and delete.
i say to you i can wait. i will think thoughts.
Hans Ostrom, 2012
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