Saturday, August 12, 2017
Wednesday, August 9, 2017
Tuesday, August 8, 2017
Monday, August 7, 2017
Christ Based Cleaning
A sign on the side
of a white van
said, CHRIST BASED
CLEANING. Excellent.
Gets a person hoping
for miracles mixed
with mopping and sweeping
and for a higher
minimum wage; for
speaking the truth
to local imperial thugs--
maybe after work?
This is just me, but
I wouldn't want evil
spirits cast into pets
that then sprint demonically
off a cliff. No. Throw
those bad seeds out
with the trash. Recycle
them for bloated politicians
to use ineptly. Oh,
Christ, more than a
billion times, y'all must
have thought, "What will
they think of next?"
hans ostrom 2017
of a white van
said, CHRIST BASED
CLEANING. Excellent.
Gets a person hoping
for miracles mixed
with mopping and sweeping
and for a higher
minimum wage; for
speaking the truth
to local imperial thugs--
maybe after work?
This is just me, but
I wouldn't want evil
spirits cast into pets
that then sprint demonically
off a cliff. No. Throw
those bad seeds out
with the trash. Recycle
them for bloated politicians
to use ineptly. Oh,
Christ, more than a
billion times, y'all must
have thought, "What will
they think of next?"
hans ostrom 2017
Traffic Surf
Car traffic tonight
2017 sounds like a metal
ocean, tires and tires
laying down bass lines.
I've never wanted
to tell a sea to shut up.
In fact I've treated
surf noise as a lullaby
composed by hubris.
Concerning this endless
traffic enjambment,
my attitude is flat,
as if an itinerant psychiatrist
had injected my
brain with novocaine and
filled my ears with alloy.
hans ostrom 2017
2017 sounds like a metal
ocean, tires and tires
laying down bass lines.
I've never wanted
to tell a sea to shut up.
In fact I've treated
surf noise as a lullaby
composed by hubris.
Concerning this endless
traffic enjambment,
my attitude is flat,
as if an itinerant psychiatrist
had injected my
brain with novocaine and
filled my ears with alloy.
hans ostrom 2017
Saturday, August 5, 2017
Monday, July 31, 2017
At the Edge of the Road One Evening
He was quite high and making
up nonsense songs as he stood
in battered sandals on the gravel.
Dusk. In one of the lyrics he
rhymed spaghetti with confetti.
It was a mournful ballad.
Turning from composing and
performing, he asked himself
if there was any discernible
reason for humanity. He was weary
of the standard answers. He
imagined looking at the human-
phenomenon from another side
of the galaxy and thinking,
"What's that for?" in a British
accent. He then heard his name
called and listened to the familiar
voice as if for the first time. Then
it was no longer dusk but night,
what a drag.
hans ostrom 2017
up nonsense songs as he stood
in battered sandals on the gravel.
Dusk. In one of the lyrics he
rhymed spaghetti with confetti.
It was a mournful ballad.
Turning from composing and
performing, he asked himself
if there was any discernible
reason for humanity. He was weary
of the standard answers. He
imagined looking at the human-
phenomenon from another side
of the galaxy and thinking,
"What's that for?" in a British
accent. He then heard his name
called and listened to the familiar
voice as if for the first time. Then
it was no longer dusk but night,
what a drag.
hans ostrom 2017
They Call Him The Numerator
Yeah, that's me. The Numerator. Freelance.
I'll work with any denominator--they all
think they're the sum of all parts, anyway.
Me--I come in, I represent myself
and no one else. I get paid the same
whether I'm working for a 3, a
million, a square root, or some
ludicrous boutique unit. I have to say,
it's still a thrill to work as
one over one. Gives one a bit of an
autotelic buzz. All about a fitted whole
in a fragmented world, or some shit like that.
hans ostrom 2017
I'll work with any denominator--they all
think they're the sum of all parts, anyway.
Me--I come in, I represent myself
and no one else. I get paid the same
whether I'm working for a 3, a
million, a square root, or some
ludicrous boutique unit. I have to say,
it's still a thrill to work as
one over one. Gives one a bit of an
autotelic buzz. All about a fitted whole
in a fragmented world, or some shit like that.
hans ostrom 2017
Sunday, July 30, 2017
Stingrays
Small stingrays propel floating
as if they were broad flesh-leaves
rising from secret forests on the sea
floor. How can their skin be so softly
liquid to the touch? How can the edges
of their bodies undulate and curl so subtly?
The rays move like intuitive insight
through the mind of the water. They
are a marvelous surmise.
hans ostrom 2017
as if they were broad flesh-leaves
rising from secret forests on the sea
floor. How can their skin be so softly
liquid to the touch? How can the edges
of their bodies undulate and curl so subtly?
The rays move like intuitive insight
through the mind of the water. They
are a marvelous surmise.
hans ostrom 2017
Saturday, July 29, 2017
What They Told Him
You need a special color. The right card. The
appropriate look and lingo. You have to know somebody,
but not just anybody. Are you on the list?
No, not that list, stupid. It's not our fault
we resent you. You don't belong here.
We belong. You're not us. How did
you even get in here? Get out or we'll
call somebody, but not just anybody.
It's not our fault we hate you. It's yours.
You made that choice. If you were just
like we like people to be, you might
be all right, but you're not, so you're not.
Got it? It's not our fault we don't know
anything about you. Why should we? We
don't have time. We keep a list of people
who's fault things are. You're on that list.
hans ostom2017
appropriate look and lingo. You have to know somebody,
but not just anybody. Are you on the list?
No, not that list, stupid. It's not our fault
we resent you. You don't belong here.
We belong. You're not us. How did
you even get in here? Get out or we'll
call somebody, but not just anybody.
It's not our fault we hate you. It's yours.
You made that choice. If you were just
like we like people to be, you might
be all right, but you're not, so you're not.
Got it? It's not our fault we don't know
anything about you. Why should we? We
don't have time. We keep a list of people
who's fault things are. You're on that list.
hans ostom2017
Tuesday, July 25, 2017
Free-Radical Yearning
Sunlight just
before dusk
adds gold to fir trees'
green--shadows
in the boughs, dark lapis.
And sky's color
behind is at its palest
blue all day. I've
seen this burnished image,
only slightly varied,
hundreds of times
in the Sierra, in Sweden
and Germany, in
Istanbul and the Pacific
Northwest.
When it soaks in,
it always generates
a slow longing,
an impersonal sadness
involved with grandeur,
peace, and hope--all
far, far out of reach.
The heart, as we call
that mental zone, pretends
to want to ask the trees
to stay in that light,
beg the scene never to leave.
The question's
really a way to savor the mild
spiritual soreness, this
free-radical yearning,
this old, old emotion
which even other species
of hominid felt,
drawing from an immense,
invisible psychic lake.
hans ostrom 2017
before dusk
adds gold to fir trees'
green--shadows
in the boughs, dark lapis.
And sky's color
behind is at its palest
blue all day. I've
seen this burnished image,
only slightly varied,
hundreds of times
in the Sierra, in Sweden
and Germany, in
Istanbul and the Pacific
Northwest.
When it soaks in,
it always generates
a slow longing,
an impersonal sadness
involved with grandeur,
peace, and hope--all
far, far out of reach.
The heart, as we call
that mental zone, pretends
to want to ask the trees
to stay in that light,
beg the scene never to leave.
The question's
really a way to savor the mild
spiritual soreness, this
free-radical yearning,
this old, old emotion
which even other species
of hominid felt,
drawing from an immense,
invisible psychic lake.
hans ostrom 2017
Dragonfly Corpse Recovery
A blueberry's what
the head of the dead dragonfly
looked like.
A blueberry with a small
metallic visor attached. Do you
covet video
of what was perceived and how
through that mono-goggle? Me, too.
The body looked like one of two
elegant eyebrow
from under which a Persian woman
looks wisely
upon the world. And the wings?
Stained glass
done in ash-gray, or crystal
camouflage
for hiding in fog. When the head
fell off
and fell into a paper cup,
it sounded like a final pebble
hitting a coffin.
The legs were a bunching of
collapsed angles,
the knees so terribly delicate.
Things fall apart. Creatures, too.
But it's also true
that this dragonfly was one of those
beings that show
how Evolution's patience delivers
functional art
and inspired form to its client,
the unsentimental Earth.
hans ostrom 2017
the head of the dead dragonfly
looked like.
A blueberry with a small
metallic visor attached. Do you
covet video
of what was perceived and how
through that mono-goggle? Me, too.
The body looked like one of two
elegant eyebrow
from under which a Persian woman
looks wisely
upon the world. And the wings?
Stained glass
done in ash-gray, or crystal
camouflage
for hiding in fog. When the head
fell off
and fell into a paper cup,
it sounded like a final pebble
hitting a coffin.
The legs were a bunching of
collapsed angles,
the knees so terribly delicate.
Things fall apart. Creatures, too.
But it's also true
that this dragonfly was one of those
beings that show
how Evolution's patience delivers
functional art
and inspired form to its client,
the unsentimental Earth.
hans ostrom 2017
Sunflowers Are Sad, Experts Claim
Propaganda notwithstanding, sunflowers
are morose. Their puritanical, resolute
stalks lift them up to be sacrificed
to the gods, which employ birds, flies,
and bees as visiting priests. The central
cycloptic seed-cushion--color of tobacco
juice--weighs too much, like depression.
Too, please note the celebrated solar petals
wrinkle like Edwardian handkerchiefs
left in a jungle. Oh, Sunflower, foster
child of Old Bill Blake, 1960s advertising,
and baseball players: I bow my head
to you and yours. You grow, I garden,
and it's all work, isn't it?
hans ostrom 2017
are morose. Their puritanical, resolute
stalks lift them up to be sacrificed
to the gods, which employ birds, flies,
and bees as visiting priests. The central
cycloptic seed-cushion--color of tobacco
juice--weighs too much, like depression.
Too, please note the celebrated solar petals
wrinkle like Edwardian handkerchiefs
left in a jungle. Oh, Sunflower, foster
child of Old Bill Blake, 1960s advertising,
and baseball players: I bow my head
to you and yours. You grow, I garden,
and it's all work, isn't it?
hans ostrom 2017
Transformation: Footballer
(soccer, that is)
When I become a footballer, I run across
grass wildly but stumble into
thick mud as it were: halted. I become
two years old again and stab at and stomp
and kick things with my legs. Adrenalin-
incited, I then oscillate between manic
ambition and dispirited lethargy. Every
so often, ambition gets what it wanted
from a ball and some netting.
Sweat-ecstasy. For a moment I'm held
in the raucous hive-mind of the Folk.
Even as I begin to celebrate, I feel
the thrill begin to fade. I see the howling
crowd drunk in the rain, and I turn 51
and lie on a couch snoring while TV
broadcasts a soporific match.
hans ostrom 2017
When I become a footballer, I run across
grass wildly but stumble into
thick mud as it were: halted. I become
two years old again and stab at and stomp
and kick things with my legs. Adrenalin-
incited, I then oscillate between manic
ambition and dispirited lethargy. Every
so often, ambition gets what it wanted
from a ball and some netting.
Sweat-ecstasy. For a moment I'm held
in the raucous hive-mind of the Folk.
Even as I begin to celebrate, I feel
the thrill begin to fade. I see the howling
crowd drunk in the rain, and I turn 51
and lie on a couch snoring while TV
broadcasts a soporific match.
hans ostrom 2017
Today in Memory World
Another brilliant day
of pretending to recover
time by accessing images
of spaces-past and a few
of the people in them then,
including us. It's a strange
system, but it's about all
we have. Meanwhile, we
continued to float down the
river for the first and last time.
hans ostrom 2017
of pretending to recover
time by accessing images
of spaces-past and a few
of the people in them then,
including us. It's a strange
system, but it's about all
we have. Meanwhile, we
continued to float down the
river for the first and last time.
hans ostrom 2017
Friday, July 21, 2017
Aren't We?
Tonight the rice-marsh glows,
and rows of plum trees feed
their purple particulars. The scene
means food. Poetry and photography
will want to extract more from it,
impose more on it. They're tools
of the greedy, insatiable grunting
wanter with the frothy name,
Imagination. No. We're not doing
that tonight. For we're satisfied.
hans ostrom 2017
and rows of plum trees feed
their purple particulars. The scene
means food. Poetry and photography
will want to extract more from it,
impose more on it. They're tools
of the greedy, insatiable grunting
wanter with the frothy name,
Imagination. No. We're not doing
that tonight. For we're satisfied.
hans ostrom 2017
A Sultan at Sunset
Thirty feet up, the hummingbird hovered,
looking at sunset behind blue, wrinkled
Olympic Mountains. After a long day
of nectar-hauling, why not? Sitting facing
East, I watched the bird watch. I then
saw it trace with its body an enormous
precise circle in air. Wondering what
or if this circle signified was a gift
grand enough for a sultan. The invisible,
unforgettable shape suggested geometric
graffiti, avian ritual, or a secret signal
to the sun. I almost applauded.
The whirring bird zipped off to close
the astounding performance: what a pro.
As Sultan, I decree my hummingbird
equal to Whitman's eagle, Poe's raven,
the crows of Ted Hughes and Al
Hitchcock, Shelley's and Mercer's
skylark, and Bukowski's murdered
mockingbird. (I refuse to discuss
Yeats's rapist Zeus-goose.) The effect of
this decree, the Sultan does not know.
hans ostrom 2017
looking at sunset behind blue, wrinkled
Olympic Mountains. After a long day
of nectar-hauling, why not? Sitting facing
East, I watched the bird watch. I then
saw it trace with its body an enormous
precise circle in air. Wondering what
or if this circle signified was a gift
grand enough for a sultan. The invisible,
unforgettable shape suggested geometric
graffiti, avian ritual, or a secret signal
to the sun. I almost applauded.
The whirring bird zipped off to close
the astounding performance: what a pro.
As Sultan, I decree my hummingbird
equal to Whitman's eagle, Poe's raven,
the crows of Ted Hughes and Al
Hitchcock, Shelley's and Mercer's
skylark, and Bukowski's murdered
mockingbird. (I refuse to discuss
Yeats's rapist Zeus-goose.) The effect of
this decree, the Sultan does not know.
hans ostrom 2017
Millipedes and Words
Those armored locomotive tubes,
millipedes, lived with us, resting
on cool cinder-block walls
in our tomb-like living room.
We left them alone unless guests
were expected. (You know how
guests are.) Otherwise, they stank
too much to mess with, excreting
hydrogen cyanide, and their
innards were too awfully, softly
much. (I killed one in the bathroom
once.) If we'd lived in Thailand, say,
where millipedes aspire to be snakes
then some frontier shit would have
gone down. Since they were only of
several purple-brown inches, co-
habitation worked satisfactorily.
This arrangement was decided
silently, no family discussion
(the horror). Words were to be spent
on work, hilarity, or arguments.
hans ostrom 2017
millipedes, lived with us, resting
on cool cinder-block walls
in our tomb-like living room.
We left them alone unless guests
were expected. (You know how
guests are.) Otherwise, they stank
too much to mess with, excreting
hydrogen cyanide, and their
innards were too awfully, softly
much. (I killed one in the bathroom
once.) If we'd lived in Thailand, say,
where millipedes aspire to be snakes
then some frontier shit would have
gone down. Since they were only of
several purple-brown inches, co-
habitation worked satisfactorily.
This arrangement was decided
silently, no family discussion
(the horror). Words were to be spent
on work, hilarity, or arguments.
hans ostrom 2017
Tuesday, July 11, 2017
Another Old Concept Stopped By Today
Home is a place where you keep
your stuff and almost have privacy.
Could be mansion, could be cardboard
box. Home is were you live
at the moment. Is home home?
I have felt it isn't. I have felt
it is a forgery. That said, Go home,
said with kindness quietly,
seems to be in every language
always good advice. Probably
home is where you'll probably
stay instead of going to that
other place to do those sociable
things. Home might be. With luck
it might be where things are easier.
hans ostrom 2017
your stuff and almost have privacy.
Could be mansion, could be cardboard
box. Home is were you live
at the moment. Is home home?
I have felt it isn't. I have felt
it is a forgery. That said, Go home,
said with kindness quietly,
seems to be in every language
always good advice. Probably
home is where you'll probably
stay instead of going to that
other place to do those sociable
things. Home might be. With luck
it might be where things are easier.
hans ostrom 2017
Lighting Out
I'm lighting out for infinity. I don't
yet have a firm idea of when
I will arrive. Oh, everybody says
it's going to take me "forever."
The truth is they don't know.
Who could blame infinity
for getting sick of extending
itself, for stopping and settling
down? I think on my way,
I'll come around a bend,
and there will be a town,
a scape of mirrors, towers,
boulevards, gardens with
gigantic butterflies and
multicolored trees. It will
all have been designed by
close associates of time.
After I settle in, I'll
ask if anybody knows the street
on which I might find infinity.
Of course I'll try to reach
the residence by phone or signal
ahead of time. Manners matter.
What sort of gift should I bring?
What sort of song should I sing?
hans ostrom 2017
yet have a firm idea of when
I will arrive. Oh, everybody says
it's going to take me "forever."
The truth is they don't know.
Who could blame infinity
for getting sick of extending
itself, for stopping and settling
down? I think on my way,
I'll come around a bend,
and there will be a town,
a scape of mirrors, towers,
boulevards, gardens with
gigantic butterflies and
multicolored trees. It will
all have been designed by
close associates of time.
After I settle in, I'll
ask if anybody knows the street
on which I might find infinity.
Of course I'll try to reach
the residence by phone or signal
ahead of time. Manners matter.
What sort of gift should I bring?
What sort of song should I sing?
hans ostrom 2017
Thursday, July 6, 2017
The Key
There's someone in the basement wailing.
It must be that fellow other tenants call Poe.
That's all I know. Wailing and Poe.
I don't own, don't hold the keys to,
that ambitious dungeon. Otherwise,
I'd knock trepidation aside and descend
toward the sound like a responsible person.
I start wailing myself. Weakly, at first.
And I begin to wonder what the tenants
will call me, if indeed mournful cries
lead to nicknames and dungeons. It
all depends on what the rules are. The key
will be to know who has the key.
hans ostrom 2017
It must be that fellow other tenants call Poe.
That's all I know. Wailing and Poe.
I don't own, don't hold the keys to,
that ambitious dungeon. Otherwise,
I'd knock trepidation aside and descend
toward the sound like a responsible person.
I start wailing myself. Weakly, at first.
And I begin to wonder what the tenants
will call me, if indeed mournful cries
lead to nicknames and dungeons. It
all depends on what the rules are. The key
will be to know who has the key.
hans ostrom 2017
Wednesday, July 5, 2017
I Robin, I
I robin tip
my body forward
on an axis
when I hop-walk.
I robin stand
up tall after
I stop. I
robin turn my
head to listen
to/look at grass,
so to seek
evidence of worms.
I robin swallow
a worm whole
with a bit
of dirt. I
robin may also
chop worms into
pieces, then eat,
or take them
back to nestlings
I robin like
my orange feather
shirt and my
gray feather jacket.
I robin fly
and hop with
other robins long
ways after something
changes in the weather's
tone of voice.
I robin flute
fluidly my tune,
I robin I.
hans ostrom 2017
my body forward
on an axis
when I hop-walk.
I robin stand
up tall after
I stop. I
robin turn my
head to listen
to/look at grass,
so to seek
evidence of worms.
I robin swallow
a worm whole
with a bit
of dirt. I
robin may also
chop worms into
pieces, then eat,
or take them
back to nestlings
I robin like
my orange feather
shirt and my
gray feather jacket.
I robin fly
and hop with
other robins long
ways after something
changes in the weather's
tone of voice.
I robin flute
fluidly my tune,
I robin I.
hans ostrom 2017
Monday, June 26, 2017
Harrier Mind
Your mind's pressing in again,
isn't it? Harrier mind. It raps
on doors and windows, jiggles
locks, leaves ugly messages.
It's a double agent, a drill
sergeant, a bully, a beast.
Hunker down. Think of this
annoyance as mental theater.
Fall asleep before intermission,
muttering, "Mind, you exhaust me."
hans ostrom 2017
isn't it? Harrier mind. It raps
on doors and windows, jiggles
locks, leaves ugly messages.
It's a double agent, a drill
sergeant, a bully, a beast.
Hunker down. Think of this
annoyance as mental theater.
Fall asleep before intermission,
muttering, "Mind, you exhaust me."
hans ostrom 2017
Big Shift Necessary
Oh, Switzerland, oh
shoes. Oh piety and booze.
Oh capitalists and nest-
robbers, mud-daubers
and multi-chambered tombs.
Oh wombs and the women
who carry them and carry
history, mystery, misery,
work, and care. Where
is the wisteria? Where
are the boundaries drawn
by people who shouldn't?
Oh people, grow up. It's
time. Stop worshiping
stupidity and sanctifying
greed. Lose the White
Supremacy and its evil,
desiccated heart. Discharge
sinister ministers. Own up.
'Fess up. Follow the money,
but don't let it be Lord. We
are one species, so work it
out from there. Oh, hair.
hans ostrom 2017
shoes. Oh piety and booze.
Oh capitalists and nest-
robbers, mud-daubers
and multi-chambered tombs.
Oh wombs and the women
who carry them and carry
history, mystery, misery,
work, and care. Where
is the wisteria? Where
are the boundaries drawn
by people who shouldn't?
Oh people, grow up. It's
time. Stop worshiping
stupidity and sanctifying
greed. Lose the White
Supremacy and its evil,
desiccated heart. Discharge
sinister ministers. Own up.
'Fess up. Follow the money,
but don't let it be Lord. We
are one species, so work it
out from there. Oh, hair.
hans ostrom 2017
Found Towns Lost
In daylight tiny
rural towns pretend
not to feel foolish
and depleted. There's
activity. An enthusiastic
conversation or two.
Errands and repairs.
At night streets
(such as they are)
become empty corridors
because people give
up, go inside, and
refuse to be towns-
people, too ridiculous.
Some shops weep,
others moan. If electricity
goes there at all, it
races through power
lines hoping not to be
used there. Before
dawn, animals file
through in a loose
parade. Raccoons,
stray dogs, feral
cats, owls, and sometimes
a coyote. The stoic church
bell sweats rust, and
all the glory's in ornate
tombstones on a hill.
hans ostrom 2017
rural towns pretend
not to feel foolish
and depleted. There's
activity. An enthusiastic
conversation or two.
Errands and repairs.
At night streets
(such as they are)
become empty corridors
because people give
up, go inside, and
refuse to be towns-
people, too ridiculous.
Some shops weep,
others moan. If electricity
goes there at all, it
races through power
lines hoping not to be
used there. Before
dawn, animals file
through in a loose
parade. Raccoons,
stray dogs, feral
cats, owls, and sometimes
a coyote. The stoic church
bell sweats rust, and
all the glory's in ornate
tombstones on a hill.
hans ostrom 2017
Friday, June 9, 2017
You Know?
We know we know
enough to know
we'll never know
enough to say
for sure we're sure
we know enough.
hans ostrom 2017
enough to know
we'll never know
enough to say
for sure we're sure
we know enough.
hans ostrom 2017
Leonardo Showed Her Smile
Please consider starting
with this premise:
Ms. Mona Lisa's smile
is not mysterious.
Now you may release
the heap of stifling baggage,
and if you like,
enjoy the image as it is.
(after reading Leonardo Da Vinci, by Sherwin Nuland [2005].
hans ostrom 2017
with this premise:
Ms. Mona Lisa's smile
is not mysterious.
Now you may release
the heap of stifling baggage,
and if you like,
enjoy the image as it is.
(after reading Leonardo Da Vinci, by Sherwin Nuland [2005].
hans ostrom 2017
William Tell Ravine
(a tributary of the North Yuba River, Sierra County, California)
Before he'd heard anything about Switzerland, Schiller,
Rossini & stuff, he'd looked across the river from the house
at the long white beard of William Tell Falls. The sheer-drop
ravine seemed perpendicular. No home for trout. Im-
pulsively, as usual, he decided to hike up there when he was
17. He headed out, crossed the river, climbed straight up,
more laddering than walking. Ravine was path as rock
and manzanita brush walled the sides. He made it
as far as the flat pool the falls slapped in a-rhythmic
pulses. Sounds of that constant collision careened
around the stone box. There was no climbing further.
In soaked jeans and wet boots, legs loaded up
with lactic acid, he slithered down like an arthritic
snake, satisfied to have spied on a geologic scene,
to have introduced himself to William Tell Ravine,
and to have seen water and rock in their own time.
hans ostrom 2017
Before he'd heard anything about Switzerland, Schiller,
Rossini & stuff, he'd looked across the river from the house
at the long white beard of William Tell Falls. The sheer-drop
ravine seemed perpendicular. No home for trout. Im-
pulsively, as usual, he decided to hike up there when he was
17. He headed out, crossed the river, climbed straight up,
more laddering than walking. Ravine was path as rock
and manzanita brush walled the sides. He made it
as far as the flat pool the falls slapped in a-rhythmic
pulses. Sounds of that constant collision careened
around the stone box. There was no climbing further.
In soaked jeans and wet boots, legs loaded up
with lactic acid, he slithered down like an arthritic
snake, satisfied to have spied on a geologic scene,
to have introduced himself to William Tell Ravine,
and to have seen water and rock in their own time.
hans ostrom 2017
Monday, June 5, 2017
American White Supremacy: the Constant Plague
It leads to the continuing slaughter and unnecessary imprisonment of African Americans. It leads to impoverished and working-class Euro-Americans to vote catastrophically against their own personal and economic interests. It leads Euro-American women to vote for an admitted sexual assaulter for President. It leads to enthusiastic, widespread display of a flag that represents slavery, rape, murder, and terror: the Confederate flag. It leads to an irrational foreign policy. It gets conflated with patriotism and Americanism.
It leads “pro-life” "Christians" to support a murderous justice system and a savage attitude toward healthcare, both of which kill people, just as it once led them to own slaves and lynch human beings. It leads to de facto Jim Crow educational policies. Even in relatively improved situations—such as the status of African Americans and Latino Americans in higher education—it leads to continuing dehumanization: racist graffiti on campuses, racist security “services,” racist treatment of professors and students, etc.
It is White Supremacy, an idea rooted in the fake science of 17th and 18th centuries, completely fictional constructions of multiple human species when in fact there is only one. And obviously this idea helped to make slavery and genocidal colonialism, among other things, morally acceptable to alleged Christian nations, including ours.
White Supremacy never goes away. It only changes shape, at most. Slavery has ended, but widespread immiseration of minority populations remains, as does a proliferation of hate groups and lynching talk from elected representatives: while still a U.S. Senator, Jim DeMint said of newly elected President Obama, “we will break him”; recently an elected official in the South said those responsible for removing monuments to confederate figures should be lynched. The mindset leading to such rhetoric determines the character of the GOP, which is a White Supremacist Party. As noted, de facto Jim Crow practices remain in the justice system, the political systems (voting rights eroded), the educational system, and the healthcare system.
Shortly before she retired from the liberal arts college at which I teach, a highly respected, nationally decorated colleague said to me, after I had mentioned the miserable jog the college did at recruiting and retaining Black students, “Why don’t they [African American students] just go to historically Black colleges [as opposed to “annoying” “us”,” I guess was the rest of the point. In the GOP mind, she probably counts as a typical “liberal” professor. Liberal and White Supremacist, unapologetically so. Multiply her worldview by hundreds of thousands, and you’ll get some sense of how White Supremacy vitiates allegedly enlightened institutions. Imagine how that worldview inspires innumerable micro- and macro-aggressions, every day.
White Supremacy affects the Left, with hard-line quasi-socialists, including Bernie Sanders, downplaying (at best) the presence and effects of racism. It affects liberals, who may say the right things but are almost never as aggressive as they need to be to wipe out White Supremacy. It affects seemingly smart men like Justice Roberts, who asked, when the continuation of the Voting Rights Act was before the court, just how long such an Act (and other measures) was supposed to be allowed to go on. In other words, when would “they” (African Americans) be satisfied? Embedded in the rhetoric is the attitude of a White Supremacist doing somebody a favor and growing oh so weary of it. The answer to the “how long” question is “as long as it takes,” of course. And of course his Court struck down the Act, or at least its most potent parts, and doing so led directly to widespread voter suppression in the South and Midwest, where White “Christian” governors and legislatures reign.
It affects identity, not just in the narrow sense of “identity politics,” but in the sense that millions of Euro-Americans simply cannot construct an identity that doesn’t depend significantly on the belief that in some deep biological sense, they are superior to African Americans.
I just had lunch with a remarkably smart, well educated, successful former student who is African American. She said that after Trump was elected, “it didn’t take long” for a White man driving a truck with a Confederate flag decal to yell the N-word and other violent expressions at her—no, not in the South, but in Westlake Village, Los Angeles. Subsequently she visited Kansas City, Missouri, where she “didn’t feel safe” because of how White folks were behaving in public. Multiply her experiences by millions and imagine the psychological impact on African Americans. Imagine the stress this impact creates.
White Supremacy is certainly tied up in Trump’s pulling out of the Paris accord on global warming because gleeful ignorance, doing thing because you can, showing contempt for scientists in particular and higher education and research in general, and throwing your imagined White Man weight around are linked to this problem of identity.
It affects the media, not just White Supremacist Fox News but also more mainstream outlets, who rarely mention the profound White Supremacist appeal of Donald Trump, Mitch McConnell, and the rest of the GOP and who rarely challenge the Democrats on their feckless or non-existent responses to racist policies.
It certainly affects academia, informing notions of the liberal arts, hurting students and professors, and leading other professors into very sad, racist territory, putting the lie to all their high-minded posturing.
Decades ago, the genial, urbane legal scholar Derrick Bell told me that he was telling friends that vicious racism [White Supremacy] in the U.S. would never go away. And he added that a feeling of relief, at least briefly, came over him when he recognized and expressed that fact.
As a political and social entity, Euro-Americans have always had the power to knock the crap out of White Supremacy. Instead, they take half-measures—at best. Otherwise, they are by turns uselessly guilty, stupidly liberal, viciously “conservative” [let’s get real: the GOP is the same as the Dixiecrat Party], unctuously sympathetic, and enthusiastically harmful. They say shit like “I never owned slaves,” which is supposed to lead to the logical conclusion that “so I don’t have to do anything about White Supremacy [except enjoy it.” “All lives matter,” “Obama got elected—what more do you want?,” “make American great again,” “Obama isn’t American,” and yadda yadda yadda. They do things like defending murderous policing and voting for Donald Trump, already in the category of worst presidents ever--although he doesn’t own slaves, as Jefferson and Washington (among others) did.
Euro-Americans simply won’t get the job of eradicating White Supremacy, its legacies, and its consequences, done. Much of the time, they perpetuate it, on purpose or through indifference and willful ignorance. White Supremacy should be, but never will be, part of our daily political dialogue, given the horrors for which it has been responsible. It is at the amoral core of the U.S. It is the most obvious matter of urgency and the most ignored. Sure, there are multiple factors that led to the election of a gleefully White Supremacist, “birther” President, who is catastrophically unfit for that position. But if there were no White Supremacy or if there were only an enfeebled remnant of it, there would be no President Trump.
The disease of American White Supremacy thrives like a plague. It makes everybody sick, one way or another. I have no clue what to do about it, even though I write against it and do very tiny things in my very tiny sphere to oppose it. I wish something would wake up Euro-Americans, en masse. Wishing is not a strategy.
Tuesday, May 30, 2017
Cookbook Unrest
I hear the cookbooks in the kitchen--
garrulous relics from pre-digital times.
They flop around on the floor. They
gossip about how and what I cook.
"Seriously," one of them says, "if he's
going to improvise all the time,
why consult us, why insult us?"
God damn their greasy pages.
The chefs who authored them: bah!
No one should be famous for cooking.
A cat has heard the books now.
He becomes a lynx and bounds
off into the kitchen. It's quiet
in their all of a sudden. That's right:
close yourselves, you recipe barns.
Digest your dissatisfaction.
hans ostrom 2017
garrulous relics from pre-digital times.
They flop around on the floor. They
gossip about how and what I cook.
"Seriously," one of them says, "if he's
going to improvise all the time,
why consult us, why insult us?"
God damn their greasy pages.
The chefs who authored them: bah!
No one should be famous for cooking.
A cat has heard the books now.
He becomes a lynx and bounds
off into the kitchen. It's quiet
in their all of a sudden. That's right:
close yourselves, you recipe barns.
Digest your dissatisfaction.
hans ostrom 2017
Fowl Dreams
If I were a bird,
I'd ride on air and often
cock my head for different
angles. At night I'd close
my eyes from the bottom,
snooze on a roost,
and rest my beak.
Anything with a brain
dreams. Oh, imagine--
you can try: what
kind of dreams do
birds dream, and why?
Maybe they dream
of staying still and having
food come to them.
Maybe they dream
of the time when they
were dinosaurs.
hans ostrom 2017
I'd ride on air and often
cock my head for different
angles. At night I'd close
my eyes from the bottom,
snooze on a roost,
and rest my beak.
Anything with a brain
dreams. Oh, imagine--
you can try: what
kind of dreams do
birds dream, and why?
Maybe they dream
of staying still and having
food come to them.
Maybe they dream
of the time when they
were dinosaurs.
hans ostrom 2017
Ghosthood
I'll tell you what it's like to be a ghost:
No one sees you. If you talk, people
don't hear. They will not see you wave.
The apparitional circumstance
is worse than loneliness. It is
to experience nothing. It is to be
the consciousness of No. Being a ghost
is like wandering an Earth covered
with desert. It is the desolation
of an infinite bleached sky.
hans ostrom 2017
No one sees you. If you talk, people
don't hear. They will not see you wave.
The apparitional circumstance
is worse than loneliness. It is
to experience nothing. It is to be
the consciousness of No. Being a ghost
is like wandering an Earth covered
with desert. It is the desolation
of an infinite bleached sky.
hans ostrom 2017
Thursday, May 11, 2017
A Blues Collage
brown earth, muddy river
slashing sun, hard hands
long train, long train, long train
hard laughter, heavy fatigue
broken tools, bad food
long train, long train, long train
sweet tea, hot coffee
cold beer, good jukebox
cool rain, cool rain, cool rain
hans ostrom 2017
slashing sun, hard hands
long train, long train, long train
hard laughter, heavy fatigue
broken tools, bad food
long train, long train, long train
sweet tea, hot coffee
cold beer, good jukebox
cool rain, cool rain, cool rain
hans ostrom 2017
Wednesday, April 26, 2017
Dialectic
Mother, gather. Father,
proffer. Mother, other.
Father, farther. Mother,
smoother. Father, rather.
Mother, feather. Father,
weather. Mother, mystery.
Father, factory. Mother,
whisper woe, oh
no. Father falter slow.
Father go, gone.
Ma, Pa, dead,
dust, as they
must, as we
must, just so
very soon. And
the moon here
from the first,
once of Earth,
round and round.
hans ostrom
proffer. Mother, other.
Father, farther. Mother,
smoother. Father, rather.
Mother, feather. Father,
weather. Mother, mystery.
Father, factory. Mother,
whisper woe, oh
no. Father falter slow.
Father go, gone.
Ma, Pa, dead,
dust, as they
must, as we
must, just so
very soon. And
the moon here
from the first,
once of Earth,
round and round.
hans ostrom
Lunar Eclipse Seen from the Central Valley
(California: April 1979)
saw a shadow push into
the moon,
which took on a planet’s
gravitas,
losing its varicose
craters, its
coin’s gloss. Then its yellow
turned brown and red
enough
to make a farmer look
at it
as arable space. We
enjoyed
the eclipse’s math and
chance,
tried to focus
binoculars
using a rooftop TV
antenna
as approximative point.
We tried to shape our
minds
around such fear and
magic
as hunters/gatherers
may have felt. We
failed.
We joked, and after midnight,
we opened doors of our
several
abodes in a
college-town stucco
hive. We set clocks,
listened to household
engines,
to music from vinyl
undulating on a
turn-table like glassy
harbor
water. Our dreams
orbited desire.
Hans Ostrom 1979/2017
Friday, April 21, 2017
The Collector
The
Collector
If you’re
his wife, you’ve quit
asking why
it all piles up out there
in the yard
for everyone to see
from the
highway. Hubcaps from ghostly coupes.
Beer signs
in neon cursive. Coke machines,
cars, cars,
cars. You keep the house
and the
backyard according to your principles.
You hate the
mechanism in men
that drives
them to love machinery.
If you’re
his dog, you
urinate on
tires encircling weeds.
You sniff
varieties of rust,
chase
squirrels until they disappear,
until you
ram your hot wet nose
into angle
iron; it all
makes the
yard difficult.
Now,
supposing you’re the younger son,
you don’t
hate him yet.
Your friends
think he’s a wealthy man,
a pirate
maybe; they beg
their
parents to let them come over,
Crawl
through doorless cars, turn
cranks,
patent imaginary uses
for useless
contraptions. You know
what it’s
all for. It’s there
to look at,
to touch; it’s part
of a big
landscape that whirls by
every day
outside of School.
You’re the
collector. You can’t
help
yourself. You’ll fix one thing
and trade it
away for three things
you can’t
fix. The dog pisses on it all,
knocks over
cans going after squirrels,
laps up
rust-water. You can’t
keep The
neighbor-kids away.
The younger
boy, he follows you around
all day
asking What’s this for? What’s
this
for? You can’t understand why
your wife
can’t understand why iron
and motors
and axles are necessary,
why strewn
is the best way to keep
it all in
order.
You stare
right back at people
who drive by
and scowl at your yard.
You know
they’re driving junk.
Their houses
are filled with junk that works.
You’ll get
hold of it soon enough.
Hans Ostrom,
from The Coast Starlight: Collected Poems
1976-2006
Balzac's Ghost and the Crucial Detail
She brought the wrong clothes to Paris,
which wasn’t as warm as imagination.
She borrowed a sweater and a coat
from me; also shoes, and the heavy socks
that made them fit. My sweater, especially,
seemed to enjoy having her wear it
in cafes, brasseries, and markets. I
explained all this to Balzac’s ghost
at the writer’s home on Rue Raynouard.
Even though I wasn’t speaking French,
Balzac understood immediately. I went
on to observe that almost everyone
almost everywhere works hard and life
slips by so quickly and then all of a
sudden
you’re a ghost listening to a tourist.
Yes, yes, said Balzac’s ghost, but
tell me, what color is the sweater she
borrowed from you? Green, I said.
That, he said, is today’s crucial detail.
Hans Ostrom
from The
Coast Starlight: Collected Poems 1976-2006
Wednesday, April 19, 2017
Puget Sound, Winter
Attend the winter light along the
Sound.
Recall the rivers and the runs of
fish?
The Earth agrees to fail; the year’s
come down.
Most days the sun, per se, cannot be found
Except in willow leaves, low clouds,
and mist
Attending Winter light along the
Sound.
Maybe the salmon will again astound
Us with erotic, suicidal quests
Though Earth agrees to fail and years
come down.
The young that work drink hard in this
hard town.
Nation slaughters nation, no peace can
last,
And Earth agrees to fail as years come
down.
Shall we allow all fish to run aground
And Earth to die several unnatural
deaths?
Attend the Winter light along the
Sound.
The Earth agrees to fail. The year’s
come down.
--Hans Ostrom/2015
White Curse
"As for now, it must be said that the elevation of the belief in being white
was not achieved through wine tastings and ice-cream socials but rather through
the pillaging of life, liberty, labor, and land." --Ta-Nehisi Coates, "Between the World
and Me," The Atlantic, July 4, 2015
Of course a given white person
can be right in the head
about America's white-supremacist
essence, which is fed by rivers from Hell.
Collectively though we white folks
always have an alibi, an out,
a turning away or an overlooking.
And until we lose all the excuses
and make things right for
good, America will stay
hexed by whiteness. And what looks
more like the spawn of a
curse than one of our worst--
this depraved President of the U.S.?
hans ostrom 2017
was not achieved through wine tastings and ice-cream socials but rather through
the pillaging of life, liberty, labor, and land." --Ta-Nehisi Coates, "Between the World
and Me," The Atlantic, July 4, 2015
Of course a given white person
can be right in the head
about America's white-supremacist
essence, which is fed by rivers from Hell.
Collectively though we white folks
always have an alibi, an out,
a turning away or an overlooking.
And until we lose all the excuses
and make things right for
good, America will stay
hexed by whiteness. And what looks
more like the spawn of a
curse than one of our worst--
this depraved President of the U.S.?
hans ostrom 2017
Friday, April 14, 2017
Detective in Uppsala
Somebody hired me to find out
what happens to light in Sweden.
Uppsala, specifically. Hey, my
far-far was Swedish, I wanted to say
as I started the job. There was no
fooling the Swedes. Every move I
made was American. Even when I
was quiet, I was loud; and on time,
late. What I found out.
was light fills snow in Uppsala along about
January. It will have you dreaming
in Bergman scenes. In summer, it
leaves town for the lakes. It takes
the place of paint: some buildings
are an uncanny yellow, others eye-blue,
others as pale as the belly of a fish
in the Fyris River. I saw light
playing on birch bark, in gold hair,
black hair, brown hair. I have
a recording of light congratulating
raindrops. The light in this
one apartment almost had me
sobbing, it was so beautiful.
(Private Eyes aren't supposed to cry.)
I praised light in crystal. I
tasted it in pastry. That's
what I found out. That's my report.
* far far = grandfather
hans ostrom 2017
what happens to light in Sweden.
Uppsala, specifically. Hey, my
far-far was Swedish, I wanted to say
as I started the job. There was no
fooling the Swedes. Every move I
made was American. Even when I
was quiet, I was loud; and on time,
late. What I found out.
was light fills snow in Uppsala along about
January. It will have you dreaming
in Bergman scenes. In summer, it
leaves town for the lakes. It takes
the place of paint: some buildings
are an uncanny yellow, others eye-blue,
others as pale as the belly of a fish
in the Fyris River. I saw light
playing on birch bark, in gold hair,
black hair, brown hair. I have
a recording of light congratulating
raindrops. The light in this
one apartment almost had me
sobbing, it was so beautiful.
(Private Eyes aren't supposed to cry.)
I praised light in crystal. I
tasted it in pastry. That's
what I found out. That's my report.
* far far = grandfather
hans ostrom 2017
University Beneath a Flight Plan
One of us speaks of photosynthesis, another
of White Supremacist terror in the U.S.,
another of Hamlet, Act III. Some students
listen. Others talk. Others dream.
Airplanes overhead interrupt with
sustained blasts of noise. Bombers.
Transports. Fighters. The sound of
jet engines is not a discussion.
Obedient brick buildings shudder.
Our words dissolve. We keep trying
to teach and learn for a few seconds
and then give up. Wait.
The pilots note the campus, a point
of reference. They yawn. The
navigators are bored. And
the bombardiers pretend.
hans ostrom 1984/2017
of White Supremacist terror in the U.S.,
another of Hamlet, Act III. Some students
listen. Others talk. Others dream.
Airplanes overhead interrupt with
sustained blasts of noise. Bombers.
Transports. Fighters. The sound of
jet engines is not a discussion.
Obedient brick buildings shudder.
Our words dissolve. We keep trying
to teach and learn for a few seconds
and then give up. Wait.
The pilots note the campus, a point
of reference. They yawn. The
navigators are bored. And
the bombardiers pretend.
hans ostrom 1984/2017
Twisted Words
You're twisting my words. Thank you--
it feels good. You spirally wrought
ragamuffin into finfumagar: well done.
It had contortion coming.
And look what you did to
chirioscuro. It is unrecognizable.
Obviously, you are not new
to wrenching words.
If you don't mind, I'd
like to keep mademoiselle
as is, for as is it's perfect:
a sound sculpture.
hans ostrom 2017
it feels good. You spirally wrought
ragamuffin into finfumagar: well done.
It had contortion coming.
And look what you did to
chirioscuro. It is unrecognizable.
Obviously, you are not new
to wrenching words.
If you don't mind, I'd
like to keep mademoiselle
as is, for as is it's perfect:
a sound sculpture.
hans ostrom 2017
Wednesday, April 12, 2017
Expedition
Scrupulously planned
and with international sanction,
an expedition discovers itself
dying on ice.
The group walks now
only to look for places
where it can walk. Each
adventurer's blood flows
down through unfeeling toes
toward an alleged sea.
In unrelenting wind and white-out
roaring from imaginary North,
air and ice become one. So do
sky and landscape, person
and expedition.
Speech becomes something
dreamed remotely--like fingers
or the word, survival. All
vocabulary accumulates
into a glacial prayer too
immense to bring out of the heart.
hans ostrom 2017
and with international sanction,
an expedition discovers itself
dying on ice.
The group walks now
only to look for places
where it can walk. Each
adventurer's blood flows
down through unfeeling toes
toward an alleged sea.
In unrelenting wind and white-out
roaring from imaginary North,
air and ice become one. So do
sky and landscape, person
and expedition.
Speech becomes something
dreamed remotely--like fingers
or the word, survival. All
vocabulary accumulates
into a glacial prayer too
immense to bring out of the heart.
hans ostrom 2017
Monday, April 10, 2017
The Old Highway in Context
Well, I'll tell you, before the freeway
was there, there was the Old Highway.
Before that the old path was there, when
they used wagons. Before that,
Muhammad received Allah's words
and said, yes he said, and before
that, Adam and Eve were still around,
and before that, an asteroid
with water on it hit the Earth,
and before that the Earth and Moon
were the same ball. Hell, I must've
drive that Old Highway a million times.
hans ostrom 2017
was there, there was the Old Highway.
Before that the old path was there, when
they used wagons. Before that,
Muhammad received Allah's words
and said, yes he said, and before
that, Adam and Eve were still around,
and before that, an asteroid
with water on it hit the Earth,
and before that the Earth and Moon
were the same ball. Hell, I must've
drive that Old Highway a million times.
hans ostrom 2017
Friday, April 7, 2017
April: Suspect the River
It's not all poppies and blossoms. Death
knows the way to April, too. Colts die.
Arctic becomes wanton one last time.
A spouse leaves a spouse forever,
children go to war, and war goes to children.
No one will guarantee you won't die
in this naive month that smiles
between melancholy March and ruddy
May. Yes, you may do something insane,
such as long for bitter, brief, honest
December days. Or find birds bothersome,
hysterical. Sunlight isn't always easy.
The bright duty of flowers may wear on you.
I advise caution. Look at hills carefully.
Order more seeds than necessary, cash
on delivery. And suspect the rising river.
hans ostrom 1987/2017
knows the way to April, too. Colts die.
Arctic becomes wanton one last time.
A spouse leaves a spouse forever,
children go to war, and war goes to children.
No one will guarantee you won't die
in this naive month that smiles
between melancholy March and ruddy
May. Yes, you may do something insane,
such as long for bitter, brief, honest
December days. Or find birds bothersome,
hysterical. Sunlight isn't always easy.
The bright duty of flowers may wear on you.
I advise caution. Look at hills carefully.
Order more seeds than necessary, cash
on delivery. And suspect the rising river.
hans ostrom 1987/2017
Wednesday, April 5, 2017
Hanging Out with William Blake
It's possible to explain William Blake's writing.
I'm guilty of it myself. I danced
with Tiriel in an article. In a refereed journal,
baby! I also convened with Blakeans
in Santa Cruz: ecstatic dancers, emergent
recluses, titans from research
universities, Hippie refugees, Santa
Cruzeans, iconographers, and just
plain folks. Nothing against
Blakeans, but it seems more productive
to partake of Blake's texts
as if they formed a surreal festival.
Enjoy the music (I stole this idea
from A.E. Housman.) Put on a
costume yourself. Move into, with,
and against the crowd. In
the parlance of the Beats
(which they ripped off from
African Americans), Blake
is to be dug/not dug. Interpretation
and belief remain secondary.
Call the first if you think you
need it. Avoid the second.
hans ostrom 2017
I'm guilty of it myself. I danced
with Tiriel in an article. In a refereed journal,
baby! I also convened with Blakeans
in Santa Cruz: ecstatic dancers, emergent
recluses, titans from research
universities, Hippie refugees, Santa
Cruzeans, iconographers, and just
plain folks. Nothing against
Blakeans, but it seems more productive
to partake of Blake's texts
as if they formed a surreal festival.
Enjoy the music (I stole this idea
from A.E. Housman.) Put on a
costume yourself. Move into, with,
and against the crowd. In
the parlance of the Beats
(which they ripped off from
African Americans), Blake
is to be dug/not dug. Interpretation
and belief remain secondary.
Call the first if you think you
need it. Avoid the second.
hans ostrom 2017
Lord of the Clouds
I am the Lord of the Clouds.
The low clouds. Fog, really.
I am the Lord of the Fog!
Well, maybe more like a minor swamp god.
However, I have aspirations
to rise from being a sentry for stagnant water.
hans ostrom 2017
The low clouds. Fog, really.
I am the Lord of the Fog!
Well, maybe more like a minor swamp god.
However, I have aspirations
to rise from being a sentry for stagnant water.
hans ostrom 2017
Monday, March 27, 2017
Unfinished Reading
Books you don't finish reading
are like mountains you don't
finish climbing or comparisons
like this that don't seem quite right.
They are like acquaintances who
don't become friends. (This seems
better.) You have been told or
think you see what's up ahead,
but a weariness sets in. Let
the book be great for others,
you think. Just leave me out of it.
I've resigned from the reading of
The Fairie Queen, Clarissa, The
Castle of Crossed Destinies,
The Charterhouse at Parma,
countless portly mystery novels.
I pretended to finish Paradise
Lost but, as with the film,
The Titanic, I had guessed the ending.
I forced myself to climb Mann's
Magic Mountain. It took
decades, and it wasn't worth it.
When Sam Johnson (who
said of Paradise Lost, "No one
wished it longer") got tired
of a book, he threw it across
the room. Bolder than I,
he didn't resign from reading.
He fired the book.
hans ostrom 2017
are like mountains you don't
finish climbing or comparisons
like this that don't seem quite right.
They are like acquaintances who
don't become friends. (This seems
better.) You have been told or
think you see what's up ahead,
but a weariness sets in. Let
the book be great for others,
you think. Just leave me out of it.
I've resigned from the reading of
The Fairie Queen, Clarissa, The
Castle of Crossed Destinies,
The Charterhouse at Parma,
countless portly mystery novels.
I pretended to finish Paradise
Lost but, as with the film,
The Titanic, I had guessed the ending.
I forced myself to climb Mann's
Magic Mountain. It took
decades, and it wasn't worth it.
When Sam Johnson (who
said of Paradise Lost, "No one
wished it longer") got tired
of a book, he threw it across
the room. Bolder than I,
he didn't resign from reading.
He fired the book.
hans ostrom 2017
Transformation: Military; or, As You Were
The Colonel said to the Corporal,
"As you were." The corporal
obeyed and turned back into
a mountain goat from Western
North America. In his mind,
the colonel saw the youthful
goat gamboling down and up
jagged bluffs. "I shall miss him,"
said the colonel to himself--
"such a nimble fellow, and
that odd laugh!"
hans ostrom 2017
"As you were." The corporal
obeyed and turned back into
a mountain goat from Western
North America. In his mind,
the colonel saw the youthful
goat gamboling down and up
jagged bluffs. "I shall miss him,"
said the colonel to himself--
"such a nimble fellow, and
that odd laugh!"
hans ostrom 2017
Prism Time
Having been convicted
by light, I was sentenced
to prism. A three-year
stretch in spectral stir,
just trying to survive
in fractured colors
and rainbowed lock-up.
It made me a cold,
hard, hallucinatory man.
Prism changes you.
hans ostrom 2017
by light, I was sentenced
to prism. A three-year
stretch in spectral stir,
just trying to survive
in fractured colors
and rainbowed lock-up.
It made me a cold,
hard, hallucinatory man.
Prism changes you.
hans ostrom 2017
Our Task
Working in heat
mean enough
to make grass snarl
and boulders ring,
I sometimes
imagined I could not
go on. Ridiculous:
I was as far from
the tortuous labor
slaves endured
for centuries as
I was from Neptune.
Their agony is
immured, is of
the bricks forming
the foundation
of this White Supremacist
monolith now adorned
at the top by
a bloated, cadaverous
cad, multiply evil.
Our task is
to wear down
White Supremacy
and wash away
the dust and grit
the project leaves,
please.
hans ostrom 2017
mean enough
to make grass snarl
and boulders ring,
I sometimes
imagined I could not
go on. Ridiculous:
I was as far from
the tortuous labor
slaves endured
for centuries as
I was from Neptune.
Their agony is
immured, is of
the bricks forming
the foundation
of this White Supremacist
monolith now adorned
at the top by
a bloated, cadaverous
cad, multiply evil.
Our task is
to wear down
White Supremacy
and wash away
the dust and grit
the project leaves,
please.
hans ostrom 2017
Wednesday, March 22, 2017
Kiruna: New Year's Eve
(December 1980)
At noon there was a murky soup of light,
which darkness drank.
Iron miners cruise in large
awkward old American cars
on Kiruna's frozen streets.
The custom is for each drunk
passenger to pay a driver
to be not drunk.
Samis sell bone-handled knives
and jewelry the color of
salmon eggs.
At the New Year's party, my Swedish
cousin and I watch shadows and smudges
of the original King Kong play
on a Finnish TV station. My cousin
is blonder than Fay Wray.
Fireworks outside seem stupid because
we didn't have to wait for darkness.
At 11:00 p.m. my cousin reports
that she always cries at the stroke
of the New Year. I'm prepared,
like a Swede, when tears travel
from her eyes like small droplets
of Sami pewter. I'm impressed
when one tear lands in her
glass of Norwegian champagne.
1981/2017 Hans Ostrom
At noon there was a murky soup of light,
which darkness drank.
Iron miners cruise in large
awkward old American cars
on Kiruna's frozen streets.
The custom is for each drunk
passenger to pay a driver
to be not drunk.
Samis sell bone-handled knives
and jewelry the color of
salmon eggs.
At the New Year's party, my Swedish
cousin and I watch shadows and smudges
of the original King Kong play
on a Finnish TV station. My cousin
is blonder than Fay Wray.
Fireworks outside seem stupid because
we didn't have to wait for darkness.
At 11:00 p.m. my cousin reports
that she always cries at the stroke
of the New Year. I'm prepared,
like a Swede, when tears travel
from her eyes like small droplets
of Sami pewter. I'm impressed
when one tear lands in her
glass of Norwegian champagne.
1981/2017 Hans Ostrom
Return to Uncleton
Return to Uncleton
His uncle had named the town Uncleton,
served as mayor for fifty years.
Except to tidy up the dog’s grave,
he goes back only for the annual
Rust Festival. He owns snapshots
of the Rust Queens and their Oxidized Courts
from the last twenty years. The lake looks
different from before and smells.
His trousers slip off his buttocks,
and teenagers laugh, their goddamned
music thumping out of cars. He’s inherited
just a pinch of his uncle’s rage
but no property. The sun off the lake
makes him scowl. Where exactly is
the dog’s grave? He remembers how,
just a pup, the little bastard nipped him.
Uncleton, O Uncleton, I hate the way you
draw me back like english on a cue ball.
Copyright 2007/2017
The Semicolon in Modern Thought
The Semicolon in Modern Thought
Scholars disagree; they are disagreeable.
According to Jeb Nolocimis, Distinguished
Three-Legged Chair in Social Podiatry at
Bandsaw University, a hallucinating German
printer presided over the marriage of Period
and Comma in his shop, located in
Mainz-am-Rhein, circa 1498. However,
Dr. Lola Doirep of the Toots Institute
rejects Nolocimis's account as "surreal
historicism." She argues periodically
that the semicolon should be interpreted
semiotically first as inhabiting a liminal
zone vexed by indecision (stop or continue?)
and second as the right and left eyes
of an iconic emoticon, which more deeply
represents "winking post-modernity"
and "the rise of Cyber-cute." Meanwhile,
Argentinian-American poet Rexi Vivaldo,
in his long poem, "Stubby's Quest,"
alludes to the semicolon as "a sad
period's single tear, frozen in time
and space--a lament
for the mortality of clauses . . . ;"
Copyright 2008/2017 Hans Ostrom
Sunday, March 19, 2017
And the Feelings Thus Conjured
She's dipping her hands in the paint
that neuron networks manufacture.
She's rising from sleep and adorning
the darkness with bright looping
smears her fingertips eject.
The fog shows up, a loose collection
of gray blobs held inside a pale
amorphous balloon. There is a sound
of grinding, a sound of grinding,
a grinding, a sound. She says to no one,
"Sing with me: 'I am stuck on
the balcony of REM sleep . . .!'"
We don't have to call it anything, you
know. We can just experience it
and the feelings thus conjured,
and live an entire lifetime
there in a mind-sponsored moment.
hans ostrom 2017
that neuron networks manufacture.
She's rising from sleep and adorning
the darkness with bright looping
smears her fingertips eject.
The fog shows up, a loose collection
of gray blobs held inside a pale
amorphous balloon. There is a sound
of grinding, a sound of grinding,
a grinding, a sound. She says to no one,
"Sing with me: 'I am stuck on
the balcony of REM sleep . . .!'"
We don't have to call it anything, you
know. We can just experience it
and the feelings thus conjured,
and live an entire lifetime
there in a mind-sponsored moment.
hans ostrom 2017
The Bees Are Baking
Bees inside my head wear gold aprons
because they're baking tiny tan cookies.
Of course they buzz. It's how they talk.
They're speaking of their relationship
to time, of how they've been bees
again and again through the ages.
I ask them a question. Horrified,
they vanish, leaving only the pollen
of their buzzing. Oh, well. Their
little bee kitchen smells warm.
I put all of their cookies, which taste
of you-guessed-it, on my tongue at
once because I'm suddenly quite hungry.
hans ostrom 2017
because they're baking tiny tan cookies.
Of course they buzz. It's how they talk.
They're speaking of their relationship
to time, of how they've been bees
again and again through the ages.
I ask them a question. Horrified,
they vanish, leaving only the pollen
of their buzzing. Oh, well. Their
little bee kitchen smells warm.
I put all of their cookies, which taste
of you-guessed-it, on my tongue at
once because I'm suddenly quite hungry.
hans ostrom 2017
Friday, March 10, 2017
The Ladder People
Inside birch cones
live ladder people.
They build tiny
fires and carry
hand-made ladders
to cliffs, perching
there for nights
and days, singing
to each other,
letting blue moths
alight on their hands.
These people of
the birch cones
decorate their ladders
and themselves with
paint and bits of string.
Comes a light rain.
The ladder people descend.
Comes a stiff breeze,
and birch limbs toss.
Comes regret, comes
to us, and with it
arrives a deep wish to
hear the ladder people sing.
hans ostrom 2017
live ladder people.
They build tiny
fires and carry
hand-made ladders
to cliffs, perching
there for nights
and days, singing
to each other,
letting blue moths
alight on their hands.
These people of
the birch cones
decorate their ladders
and themselves with
paint and bits of string.
Comes a light rain.
The ladder people descend.
Comes a stiff breeze,
and birch limbs toss.
Comes regret, comes
to us, and with it
arrives a deep wish to
hear the ladder people sing.
hans ostrom 2017
Underwater History
for Don Parkerson
They're there, our oceanic blunders.
Monitor and Merrimack. Spanish galleons.
And our depravities: slave ships.
Submarines like the Thrusher
could not cope with fathoms.
Weed and coral enhance remaining
shapes. A crucifix grows ocean hair.
A doubloon swells into a rock,
and a captain's iced skull lectures to
a school of fish. Diving down,
the historian cannot afford to haul
a text. Theories don't hold oxygen. He
monitors (and merrimacks) his every
breath like a meditating monk.
What comes clear in obscure depths
is the sluggishness of history,
the persistence with which events
get devoured: how a ship only gradually
slips off the reef to ultimate depths;
how accoutrements of empire
dissolve like common soda.
Floating there, the burden of breath
on his back in steel tanks, the historian
sees small sharks swim through
portholes of a destroyer. The broadsides
of history went unheard here. Ocean,
imbued with oblivion's appetite,
accepted all defeated ships,
all wars and atrocities, settled or not.
hans ostrom 2017
They're there, our oceanic blunders.
Monitor and Merrimack. Spanish galleons.
And our depravities: slave ships.
Submarines like the Thrusher
could not cope with fathoms.
Weed and coral enhance remaining
shapes. A crucifix grows ocean hair.
A doubloon swells into a rock,
and a captain's iced skull lectures to
a school of fish. Diving down,
the historian cannot afford to haul
a text. Theories don't hold oxygen. He
monitors (and merrimacks) his every
breath like a meditating monk.
What comes clear in obscure depths
is the sluggishness of history,
the persistence with which events
get devoured: how a ship only gradually
slips off the reef to ultimate depths;
how accoutrements of empire
dissolve like common soda.
Floating there, the burden of breath
on his back in steel tanks, the historian
sees small sharks swim through
portholes of a destroyer. The broadsides
of history went unheard here. Ocean,
imbued with oblivion's appetite,
accepted all defeated ships,
all wars and atrocities, settled or not.
hans ostrom 2017
The Revision
It's the end of the semester. The last essay is due
to me, professor. He, student, misses the final class
and struggles to my office afterwards. He stands
in the doorway, exhausted, and tells me his dream:
"Somehow you'd gotten hold of my essay
before I wanted to turn it in. You assigned
it a grade of the square-root of A. Your
only comment was Very suburban. Then I
stole back the essay before you had
recorded the grade. I put an A in
the online grading system, next to my name,
and then I watched as the essay
revised itself, prose metamorphosis."
"I'll be darned," I say. He gives me
the essay. I look at it. "Well," I say,
"you'd better put your name on it"
hans ostrom 2017
to me, professor. He, student, misses the final class
and struggles to my office afterwards. He stands
in the doorway, exhausted, and tells me his dream:
"Somehow you'd gotten hold of my essay
before I wanted to turn it in. You assigned
it a grade of the square-root of A. Your
only comment was Very suburban. Then I
stole back the essay before you had
recorded the grade. I put an A in
the online grading system, next to my name,
and then I watched as the essay
revised itself, prose metamorphosis."
"I'll be darned," I say. He gives me
the essay. I look at it. "Well," I say,
"you'd better put your name on it"
hans ostrom 2017
Wednesday, March 8, 2017
Dilapidated
The syllables of this word seem
about to come undone. Anyway,
dilapidated is best if you don't
have to live in it. Sauntering
around the Sierra Nevada,
I liked seeing shacks that
had stopped lying to themselves.
They spoke highly of the failed,
exhausted miners who'd lived
in them. Weirder were
the cars that people had driven
or pushed into the manzanita brush.
Rust munches them even now.
Yes, and the quiet old imbibers
sitting at the Buckhorn bar,
weary feet in weary shoes
touching brass. These old folks
sipped from a shot glass; and waited.
And today I feel dilapidated.
hans ostrom 2017
about to come undone. Anyway,
dilapidated is best if you don't
have to live in it. Sauntering
around the Sierra Nevada,
I liked seeing shacks that
had stopped lying to themselves.
They spoke highly of the failed,
exhausted miners who'd lived
in them. Weirder were
the cars that people had driven
or pushed into the manzanita brush.
Rust munches them even now.
Yes, and the quiet old imbibers
sitting at the Buckhorn bar,
weary feet in weary shoes
touching brass. These old folks
sipped from a shot glass; and waited.
And today I feel dilapidated.
hans ostrom 2017
Time to Retire Whiteness
“Whiteness–the whole constellation of practices, beliefs, attitudes, emotions that are mixed up in being white–is the problem. Whiteness is degraded and depraved[…] To the degree that we accept any of the meaning that the dominant society gives to whiteness, we white people are degraded and depraved.”
― Robert Jensen, The Heart of Whiteness: Confronting Race, Racism, and White Privilege
Way, way past time. Whiteness is a ghost
invented by fake science and a priori supremacist
hubris. Famous skeptic David Hume should have been
skeptical about his racism. Wasn't. Joseph
Blumenach invented "Caucasian" out of nothing.
It is nothing. We're all one species, obviously.
No races, but (don't take the bait) that doesn't mean we stop
confronting racism or that we aspire to "color
blindness." If you want to get down with your
ancestry.com ethnicities, cool. Just set that
white shell aside, if you're wearing one.
Because it's probably made you do and think
some crazy shit. Mainly it's about people
and cultures, growing up, recovering from historical
madness, and doing the right things.
hans ostrom 2017
recommended: Nell Irvin Painter, The History of White People (2010)
Tuesday, March 7, 2017
James Baldwin's Wisdom
Further insight, from decades past, into why and how we ended up with an insane White Supremacist as president:
Wednesday, March 1, 2017
Song: Solomon Fry
Solomon Fry never asked why.
He just did what he did
and said what he said.
Solomon Fry.
Solomon Fry sometimes got high.
It deepened his thoughts
about lots and lots.
Oh, Solomon Fry.
Sadly he died,
Solomon Fry,
though he lived
to be very old.
Goodbye, goodbye,
Solomon Fry.
He died in his sleep,
we were told.
Solomon Fry never asked why.
We asked it instead.
Why is he dead?
Oh, Why did you die,
Solomon Fry?
hans ostrom 2017
(a completely fictional character, as you might have guessed)
He just did what he did
and said what he said.
Solomon Fry.
Solomon Fry sometimes got high.
It deepened his thoughts
about lots and lots.
Oh, Solomon Fry.
Sadly he died,
Solomon Fry,
though he lived
to be very old.
Goodbye, goodbye,
Solomon Fry.
He died in his sleep,
we were told.
Solomon Fry never asked why.
We asked it instead.
Why is he dead?
Oh, Why did you die,
Solomon Fry?
hans ostrom 2017
(a completely fictional character, as you might have guessed)
It's Not Like the End of the World is the End of the World or Anything
Just before he went to sleep,
the world ended. Well, began
to end: it's quite a process, after all
(and After All). He stayed awake
that night, finally slept a couple hours
as the sun rose The wailing and yelling
coming from other abodes woke him.
He wondered if he was expected at work--
and what was in the cupboard
that might comprise supper?
It was just as he expected: even
when the world ends,
a person must plod on.
hans ostrom 2017
the world ended. Well, began
to end: it's quite a process, after all
(and After All). He stayed awake
that night, finally slept a couple hours
as the sun rose The wailing and yelling
coming from other abodes woke him.
He wondered if he was expected at work--
and what was in the cupboard
that might comprise supper?
It was just as he expected: even
when the world ends,
a person must plod on.
hans ostrom 2017
Considering Ear Wax
She found it necessary, apparently,
to turn away from scenes of "her"
nation's malevolent stupidity
and to consider ear wax,
which absorbs airborne particular
debris and expels it. How,
she wondered, do the ears
know when to drive the soil-heavy
wax out of the twin tubular garages?
And could the process be applied
to the removal of a depraved president?
hans ostrom 2017
to turn away from scenes of "her"
nation's malevolent stupidity
and to consider ear wax,
which absorbs airborne particular
debris and expels it. How,
she wondered, do the ears
know when to drive the soil-heavy
wax out of the twin tubular garages?
And could the process be applied
to the removal of a depraved president?
hans ostrom 2017
Monday, February 20, 2017
Ferocious Form
Is it art or is it nature? Yes.
Starlings' startling flock
masses, fractalates, twists,
and surges in anti-patterns.
Each bird's both medium
and member of the troupe-
image. It is a ferocity of
form, undulating in the afternoon.
hans ostrom 2017
Starlings' startling flock
masses, fractalates, twists,
and surges in anti-patterns.
Each bird's both medium
and member of the troupe-
image. It is a ferocity of
form, undulating in the afternoon.
hans ostrom 2017
Wednesday, February 15, 2017
If You Want It To Be
The moon is as big as you want it to be.
Even hope can be sad if you want it to be.
Addiction will peel your brain away. The
needle's a gun if you want it to be.
It can be early, if you want it to be.
The book is all yours, if you want it to be.
Like an avalanche, I regret everything.
This is an apology if you want it to be.
It's all a puzzle if you want it to be,
and this is a clue. If you want it to be.
hans ostrom 2017
Even hope can be sad if you want it to be.
Addiction will peel your brain away. The
needle's a gun if you want it to be.
It can be early, if you want it to be.
The book is all yours, if you want it to be.
Like an avalanche, I regret everything.
This is an apology if you want it to be.
It's all a puzzle if you want it to be,
and this is a clue. If you want it to be.
hans ostrom 2017
The Jagged and the Smooth
Jagged edges enhance smooth achievement--
sacred stuff welded to profane, country
coagulated with city. True worldliness
cancels all its memberships.
hans ostrom 2017
sacred stuff welded to profane, country
coagulated with city. True worldliness
cancels all its memberships.
hans ostrom 2017
Aspects of Poem Repair
I took a poem into the repair shop. Got
the syntax changed, had the metaphors
rotated, tuned up the images. They also
cleaned the syllables to smooth out
the timing. Bad news, though:
they said it has a cracked narrative.
Not cheap to fix that! So do I pay
for a new one, go with an after-market
narrative, or just get rid of the damned poem?
I mean, the cost of labor alone . . . .
Still, it's been a dependable poem
up to now. And you know, it sounds
weird, but you get attached to a poem.
hans ostrom 2017
the syntax changed, had the metaphors
rotated, tuned up the images. They also
cleaned the syllables to smooth out
the timing. Bad news, though:
they said it has a cracked narrative.
Not cheap to fix that! So do I pay
for a new one, go with an after-market
narrative, or just get rid of the damned poem?
I mean, the cost of labor alone . . . .
Still, it's been a dependable poem
up to now. And you know, it sounds
weird, but you get attached to a poem.
hans ostrom 2017
Monday, February 13, 2017
Penelope Calliope
Penelope Calliope, a nonethelessing
kind of girl, gave it a whirl,
a yes of a dash, a now of a splash,
and did not dwell on the fact
that her days like everyone's
will frown into the past.
hans ostrom 2017
kind of girl, gave it a whirl,
a yes of a dash, a now of a splash,
and did not dwell on the fact
that her days like everyone's
will frown into the past.
hans ostrom 2017
Friday, February 10, 2017
Intriguing Employment Opportunities
Lead Evaporator.
Geological Psychologist ["Rock Therapist"]
Undercover Vegan
Atheist Pastry Chef
Theoretical Maid
Workplace Boor (Trainee)
Senior Skeptic
Managing Drifter
Erotic Data Analyst.
hans ostrom 2017
Geological Psychologist ["Rock Therapist"]
Undercover Vegan
Atheist Pastry Chef
Theoretical Maid
Workplace Boor (Trainee)
Senior Skeptic
Managing Drifter
Erotic Data Analyst.
hans ostrom 2017
Appointments in the Flatlands
In the '56 Chevrolet sedan, steel and wheels,
we barreled down and up and down three
canyons' worth of Sierra peaks. A mother,
an aunt, 2-3 kids, no seat belts, logging trucks
and steep killer drops to make it interesting.
Eight pistons pushed us through the forest.
Ma and Aunt sang folk songs in two-part
harmony, Clementine drowning and Tom
Dooley killing. I was the youngest in the car
and brooded on ghastly lyrics instead of
lightening up with the lilt. And I couldn't
sing worth a shit. If you looked close
out the window, you saw smears and blurs,
if far, you saw the forest staying still.
Breton would have envied the provincial
surrealism. Berryman, D.D.S., soon
loomed, mustachioed. His tooth drill
was slow and sullen. What did I know,
what did we know? Only that life
unfolds and boulders are everywhere.
hans ostrom 2017
we barreled down and up and down three
canyons' worth of Sierra peaks. A mother,
an aunt, 2-3 kids, no seat belts, logging trucks
and steep killer drops to make it interesting.
Eight pistons pushed us through the forest.
Ma and Aunt sang folk songs in two-part
harmony, Clementine drowning and Tom
Dooley killing. I was the youngest in the car
and brooded on ghastly lyrics instead of
lightening up with the lilt. And I couldn't
sing worth a shit. If you looked close
out the window, you saw smears and blurs,
if far, you saw the forest staying still.
Breton would have envied the provincial
surrealism. Berryman, D.D.S., soon
loomed, mustachioed. His tooth drill
was slow and sullen. What did I know,
what did we know? Only that life
unfolds and boulders are everywhere.
hans ostrom 2017
Plain as Day
"As plain as day," they say.
That's not very plain.
Revelations of sun's light
bewilder much more than
those of the moon's, which
is plainly a universal blue kiss.
hans ostrom 2-17
That's not very plain.
Revelations of sun's light
bewilder much more than
those of the moon's, which
is plainly a universal blue kiss.
hans ostrom 2-17
Salamander Row
I'm going down to Salamander Row,
where the quick, cool creek plays jazz
of its running for ferns and moss.
I'm going down to Salamander Row
to lose my sense of loss.
Beneath overhanging branches,
the salamanders live moistly
as meditative creatures. They
aren't teachers, but I learn
from their calm there, and the
shaded ambiance of Salamander
Row creates a balm there.
hans ostrom 2017
where the quick, cool creek plays jazz
of its running for ferns and moss.
I'm going down to Salamander Row
to lose my sense of loss.
Beneath overhanging branches,
the salamanders live moistly
as meditative creatures. They
aren't teachers, but I learn
from their calm there, and the
shaded ambiance of Salamander
Row creates a balm there.
hans ostrom 2017
Friday, February 3, 2017
Like a Bank Camera
She advised him: "Think
of yourself as a bank camera
and just observe." He said,
"So I'm looking for potential
robbers?" She said, "Don't
be silly--you are just looking,
observing in a detached way.
A bank camera has no emotion."
"God damn it," he said,
"I know a camera has no emotion!"
She looked at him,
but not as a bank camera would.
hans ostrom 2017
of yourself as a bank camera
and just observe." He said,
"So I'm looking for potential
robbers?" She said, "Don't
be silly--you are just looking,
observing in a detached way.
A bank camera has no emotion."
"God damn it," he said,
"I know a camera has no emotion!"
She looked at him,
but not as a bank camera would.
hans ostrom 2017
Monday, January 30, 2017
Nude Not Descending a Staircase
The nude descending a staircase
never moves--forget reaching the landing.
She stays trapped in that manic
wheatsheaf of lines and angles,
poor thing. I guess Duschamp
felt freer painting it up that way.
True, Mona Lisa is locked in, too,
except she gets to relax,
and her smile's in charge,
whereas the nude not descending
a staircase is always on call
and off balance. She has to be ready
to move, yet isn't allowed
even to get dressed.
hans ostrom 2017
never moves--forget reaching the landing.
She stays trapped in that manic
wheatsheaf of lines and angles,
poor thing. I guess Duschamp
felt freer painting it up that way.
True, Mona Lisa is locked in, too,
except she gets to relax,
and her smile's in charge,
whereas the nude not descending
a staircase is always on call
and off balance. She has to be ready
to move, yet isn't allowed
even to get dressed.
hans ostrom 2017
White Idols
Go to Church,
vote for a White Supremacist.
Go to Church,
vote for a rapist.
Go to Church,
vote for a nihilist.
Go to Church,
vote for a polyurethane
caesar. Render
your religious values
unto him. Go ahead
and get down with
your pious bad self
and pray to a White Idol.
hans ostrom 2017
vote for a White Supremacist.
Go to Church,
vote for a rapist.
Go to Church,
vote for a nihilist.
Go to Church,
vote for a polyurethane
caesar. Render
your religious values
unto him. Go ahead
and get down with
your pious bad self
and pray to a White Idol.
hans ostrom 2017
Introductory Doom
It may come rather soon,
our introductory doom,
now that the White folks,
South and Midwest,
made a sociopath a President.
He, his fatuous goons, his
enablers, apologists, and
tolerators, aren't satisfied
with their perch high up
in capitalism. Nope.
They must destroy. They
must inflict, control,
degrade. They must
torture, ruin, exclude.
They must champion
stupidity. Their politics,
religion, economics, and
culture are all hollowed out,
vibrant fiber replaced
by one form of depravity
or another. They symbolize
America. They run the nihilistic
show. They oversee crimes,
neglect, and ignorance. They
craft our introductory doom.
hans ostrom 2017
our introductory doom,
now that the White folks,
South and Midwest,
made a sociopath a President.
He, his fatuous goons, his
enablers, apologists, and
tolerators, aren't satisfied
with their perch high up
in capitalism. Nope.
They must destroy. They
must inflict, control,
degrade. They must
torture, ruin, exclude.
They must champion
stupidity. Their politics,
religion, economics, and
culture are all hollowed out,
vibrant fiber replaced
by one form of depravity
or another. They symbolize
America. They run the nihilistic
show. They oversee crimes,
neglect, and ignorance. They
craft our introductory doom.
hans ostrom 2017
Wednesday, January 25, 2017
How Are You Enjoying the Dictatorship?
Oh, look, America,
at what White Supremacy made you do.
Fear of change, fear of knowledge, too.
Oh, look, White men, at what
never growing up has set loose
like a plague.
Oh, look, White women
at what the White men mean
to do with your body,
citing their whacked-out version
of Scripture. Still flying
the Confederate flag, still
proud of slavery and Jim Crow?
It's a nice way to show
you don't know right from wrong.
Oh, look, America,
at what snorting celebrity
will get you. That bloated
"billionaire" racist on top
means you've hit bottom,
where the dictator's people
will stomp you,--just their
way of thanking you for
your support.
hans ostrom 2017
at what White Supremacy made you do.
Fear of change, fear of knowledge, too.
Oh, look, White men, at what
never growing up has set loose
like a plague.
Oh, look, White women
at what the White men mean
to do with your body,
citing their whacked-out version
of Scripture. Still flying
the Confederate flag, still
proud of slavery and Jim Crow?
It's a nice way to show
you don't know right from wrong.
Oh, look, America,
at what snorting celebrity
will get you. That bloated
"billionaire" racist on top
means you've hit bottom,
where the dictator's people
will stomp you,--just their
way of thanking you for
your support.
hans ostrom 2017
Another Good Surreal Night in Paris
That one night in Paris, we searched
for a Mexican restaurant and found it.
Waitresses wore tight bluejeans and
cowboy boots. Nashville music
thumped and twanged.
It was a sincerely inauthentic place.
That made us happy. It brought to mind
California, where only geology
is originally from there.
We ate les tacos and drank Dutch beer.
Looked across a dark courtyard
and spied, two floors up in a kind
of warehouse, ballet dancers,
dozens of them. They faced
the instructor, stretched and jumped
to music we could not hear.
A fire-eater appeared in the courtyard.
He licked a long match and guzzled
fuel. Tipped his head back, roared
flame into night. We saw his small
audience gasp. Full,
we sipped our beers. Saw that the dancers
were drenched in sweat. When the man
with the oboe walked in, we knew
we weren't supposed to be surprised.
hans ostrom 1981/2017
for a Mexican restaurant and found it.
Waitresses wore tight bluejeans and
cowboy boots. Nashville music
thumped and twanged.
It was a sincerely inauthentic place.
That made us happy. It brought to mind
California, where only geology
is originally from there.
We ate les tacos and drank Dutch beer.
Looked across a dark courtyard
and spied, two floors up in a kind
of warehouse, ballet dancers,
dozens of them. They faced
the instructor, stretched and jumped
to music we could not hear.
A fire-eater appeared in the courtyard.
He licked a long match and guzzled
fuel. Tipped his head back, roared
flame into night. We saw his small
audience gasp. Full,
we sipped our beers. Saw that the dancers
were drenched in sweat. When the man
with the oboe walked in, we knew
we weren't supposed to be surprised.
hans ostrom 1981/2017
Plain States
We drive a tan Ford in Kansas.
We're the heart of the Census.
We vote the person, also the Party.
We wash our clothes when they're dirty.
We like to shop at Walmart or Penney.
We save our money.
We like TV and ice cream.
We don't dream.
Our daughter's Mary; the boy, John.
When we fought wars, we won.
Why did you stop here, stranger?
Now you'll have to stay. Forever.
hans ostrom 2017
We're the heart of the Census.
We vote the person, also the Party.
We wash our clothes when they're dirty.
We like to shop at Walmart or Penney.
We save our money.
We like TV and ice cream.
We don't dream.
Our daughter's Mary; the boy, John.
When we fought wars, we won.
Why did you stop here, stranger?
Now you'll have to stay. Forever.
hans ostrom 2017
They Have Their There, We Have Our Here
Back there they speak of out here.
Out here we speak of going
back there. That doesn't mean we
go. Being from out here, we will
never be from back there or welcome.
Even if we go back there, here
will hold us still. They will always
see the out in us and the here
in how we do things. And they will
always want everyone everywhere,
including us out here, to agree
that back there is the best. Out here
we don't see things that way.
hans ostrom 2017
Out here we speak of going
back there. That doesn't mean we
go. Being from out here, we will
never be from back there or welcome.
Even if we go back there, here
will hold us still. They will always
see the out in us and the here
in how we do things. And they will
always want everyone everywhere,
including us out here, to agree
that back there is the best. Out here
we don't see things that way.
hans ostrom 2017
Monday, January 23, 2017
Partial Report from Childhood
Heights: obviously perilous.
Snow: tedious, never
as pleasurable as they would
persuade you it is. Adults:
loud and/or tired. Family:
a pecking order and a proliferation
of comparisons. School:
40% cruelty, 50% boredom,
10% pleasure. Men: in charge,
even if no one knows why.
Women: perfumed, patient,
smarter than they act.
Girls: fascinating, mercurial.
Did I mention fascinating?
Books: reliable. The future:
an absentee landlord.
hans ostrom 2017
Snow: tedious, never
as pleasurable as they would
persuade you it is. Adults:
loud and/or tired. Family:
a pecking order and a proliferation
of comparisons. School:
40% cruelty, 50% boredom,
10% pleasure. Men: in charge,
even if no one knows why.
Women: perfumed, patient,
smarter than they act.
Girls: fascinating, mercurial.
Did I mention fascinating?
Books: reliable. The future:
an absentee landlord.
hans ostrom 2017
Eve and Adam Evicted by Landlord
So after Eve and Adam got their Know on,
God evicted them, but notice please
that Eden stayed right there, the primest
piece of real estate there ever was,
and was not, for sale. It is a glorious
space, ipso and facto. It's round and flat
and low and high and wet and dry,
packed with flora, also fauna, and
maybe, yes, a sauna, oh why not?
Can I tell you where it is and why?
Oh, I wish. Or do I? Better not to know,
perhaps, Wasn't that the lesson of
eviction? Let's ask dove and crow.
hans ostrom 2017
God evicted them, but notice please
that Eden stayed right there, the primest
piece of real estate there ever was,
and was not, for sale. It is a glorious
space, ipso and facto. It's round and flat
and low and high and wet and dry,
packed with flora, also fauna, and
maybe, yes, a sauna, oh why not?
Can I tell you where it is and why?
Oh, I wish. Or do I? Better not to know,
perhaps, Wasn't that the lesson of
eviction? Let's ask dove and crow.
hans ostrom 2017
Tuesday, January 17, 2017
Ghost Pavilion
I have been admitted to
the Ghost Pavilion,
which rises from a
plateau beyond fatalism.
There one is invited
to view reproductions
of the groups and squads
and masses of faces
one has passed by,
through, or among
in life. Students at
the Ghost Pavilion
accept that reality
exists but also learn
that anybody's perceptions
of it are little more than
a cache of roughly
recorded glimpses.
hans ostrom 2017
the Ghost Pavilion,
which rises from a
plateau beyond fatalism.
There one is invited
to view reproductions
of the groups and squads
and masses of faces
one has passed by,
through, or among
in life. Students at
the Ghost Pavilion
accept that reality
exists but also learn
that anybody's perceptions
of it are little more than
a cache of roughly
recorded glimpses.
hans ostrom 2017
What a Lovely Afternoon
(acknowledging Calvin and Hobbs, and Henry C.)
What a lovely afternoon,
in spite of the fascist President
of Amerixon and his cabinet
full of rapacious rats. What
a lovely afternoon, shining
down on poverty and pain
and insufficient rain. What
are we going to do about this
fix in which science is treated
as a cartoon and hateful lore
displaces logic? Not sure
we can do anything much
(but what a lovely afternoon)
except watch a culture try
to commit suicide and take
so many innocent people with it.
hans ostrom 2017
What a lovely afternoon,
in spite of the fascist President
of Amerixon and his cabinet
full of rapacious rats. What
a lovely afternoon, shining
down on poverty and pain
and insufficient rain. What
are we going to do about this
fix in which science is treated
as a cartoon and hateful lore
displaces logic? Not sure
we can do anything much
(but what a lovely afternoon)
except watch a culture try
to commit suicide and take
so many innocent people with it.
hans ostrom 2017
In Old Palm Springs
In old Palm Springs, north, just beyond
the charming attempts at glamour,
trunks of big palm trees look like
elephants' legs: parched, dermatologically
checked, and weary. The Earth
is each palm's shoe, and all the trees
are taking a walk through space.
hans ostrom 2017
the charming attempts at glamour,
trunks of big palm trees look like
elephants' legs: parched, dermatologically
checked, and weary. The Earth
is each palm's shoe, and all the trees
are taking a walk through space.
hans ostrom 2017
Wednesday, January 11, 2017
Old Fables
I prefer the older animal books for children--
the ones in which creatures act, dress,
and talk like humans but aren't cute.
In the illustrations, they still look
like creatures, seem embarrassed
by the costumes given them--
a frog in coat and vest, a fox
wearing a scarf. But in those books
they throw themselves into the difficult
roles. I saw that in the stories, and
that's what interested me--the animals'
existential struggle with entertainment.
hans ostrom 2017
the ones in which creatures act, dress,
and talk like humans but aren't cute.
In the illustrations, they still look
like creatures, seem embarrassed
by the costumes given them--
a frog in coat and vest, a fox
wearing a scarf. But in those books
they throw themselves into the difficult
roles. I saw that in the stories, and
that's what interested me--the animals'
existential struggle with entertainment.
hans ostrom 2017
Cross-Examination Song
I have no further questions
for this witness.
He really doesn't seem
to know his business.
He said he saw the man
but changed his tale again.
Prevarication displays
symptoms like a sickness.
hans ostrom 2017
for this witness.
He really doesn't seem
to know his business.
He said he saw the man
but changed his tale again.
Prevarication displays
symptoms like a sickness.
hans ostrom 2017
Fixated, Exasperated
I've been trying to write
about other things,
but I'm fixated on
White Supremacy, what
a deadly, depraved sink-hole
it is, how it elected a racist
rapist President, and how
White folks let it persist,
nourish it, become
zombies in its death-cult army.
hans ostrom 2017
about other things,
but I'm fixated on
White Supremacy, what
a deadly, depraved sink-hole
it is, how it elected a racist
rapist President, and how
White folks let it persist,
nourish it, become
zombies in its death-cult army.
hans ostrom 2017
Be Careful What
"Be careful what you wish for; you may get it."
--Old Saying, variously attributed
Be careful what you fish for. It
may catch you. Be careful who
you swish for (for whom), for
you may get swashed or even
buckled. Be careful what you
kiss for, for kissing is a kind of wish.
Be careful what you dish, no not
because you later may have to take
it, but because dishing carefully
is as we know the right thing to do.
"Be careful what you hiss for":
a feline admonition.
hans ostrom 2017
--Old Saying, variously attributed
Be careful what you fish for. It
may catch you. Be careful who
you swish for (for whom), for
you may get swashed or even
buckled. Be careful what you
kiss for, for kissing is a kind of wish.
Be careful what you dish, no not
because you later may have to take
it, but because dishing carefully
is as we know the right thing to do.
"Be careful what you hiss for":
a feline admonition.
hans ostrom 2017
Wednesday, December 14, 2016
Busker in the Rain
I am a folksinger
sitting in the rain,
playing my guitar,
very much in pain.
Nobody's listening,
nobody cares.
Someone took the table,
leaving broken chairs.
I am a failing busker.
And I love it so.
I am myself, and that's
about all I know.
Nobody's listening,
they all turn away.
They look like hollow barns
that hold no hay.
hans ostrom
sitting in the rain,
playing my guitar,
very much in pain.
Nobody's listening,
nobody cares.
Someone took the table,
leaving broken chairs.
I am a failing busker.
And I love it so.
I am myself, and that's
about all I know.
Nobody's listening,
they all turn away.
They look like hollow barns
that hold no hay.
hans ostrom
Aspen Shadow Wisdom
Wisdom is a witty
shadow created by
sunlight and an aspen,
which, after Earth
became and changed
over the billions of
years, grew there then.
hans ostrom 2016
shadow created by
sunlight and an aspen,
which, after Earth
became and changed
over the billions of
years, grew there then.
hans ostrom 2016
Monday, December 12, 2016
We Had a Good Morning
We had it good there for a while,
saying tuna implies blue
and shirt suggests sadness.
For most of the morning, mist
and tree remained a single entity.
The pickled, packaged voices
of information streaming through devices?
We re-deployed them as sound collages.
By late afternoon, windows re-
solidified, and reporting sports
scores seemed to be a rational
activity. Life became plain
and tepid once more. Dogged
and sullen we set out our clothes
for the work-week ahead.
hans ostrom 2016
saying tuna implies blue
and shirt suggests sadness.
For most of the morning, mist
and tree remained a single entity.
The pickled, packaged voices
of information streaming through devices?
We re-deployed them as sound collages.
By late afternoon, windows re-
solidified, and reporting sports
scores seemed to be a rational
activity. Life became plain
and tepid once more. Dogged
and sullen we set out our clothes
for the work-week ahead.
hans ostrom 2016
Monday, December 5, 2016
No-Sense Songs
We need more songs
that make no sense.
We need more grassland
and way less fence.
Fevers and fenders,
go to the dome.
Let's buy some lettuce
and polish the chrome.
We songs need more
that sense no make.
Please ask the river
to help make a lake.
No hookish formulae,
just No, yes No!
Senselessly, senselessly
trudge through the snow.
hans ostrom 2016
that make no sense.
We need more grassland
and way less fence.
Fevers and fenders,
go to the dome.
Let's buy some lettuce
and polish the chrome.
We songs need more
that sense no make.
Please ask the river
to help make a lake.
No hookish formulae,
just No, yes No!
Senselessly, senselessly
trudge through the snow.
hans ostrom 2016
Stolen Thread
Ariadne ran out of thread. Now we're stuck.
Her simple woven line had belittled the labyrinth
for us, rendering it tedious at worst. That
was up until today. Or is it night? A frivolous,
costly puzzle can still prove deadly, we're
thinking. We're thinking of the leaders who
imprisoned us here. They're perfectly,
compulsively evil. Ariadne tried
to help us with her sensible approach.
We're starting to think someone stole
the thread, for Ariadne always
carries plenty. The dark walls are damp.
hans ostrom 2016
Her simple woven line had belittled the labyrinth
for us, rendering it tedious at worst. That
was up until today. Or is it night? A frivolous,
costly puzzle can still prove deadly, we're
thinking. We're thinking of the leaders who
imprisoned us here. They're perfectly,
compulsively evil. Ariadne tried
to help us with her sensible approach.
We're starting to think someone stole
the thread, for Ariadne always
carries plenty. The dark walls are damp.
hans ostrom 2016
Wednesday, November 16, 2016
Meetings
There is a man running
a meeting, and he asks
a question of the group
and then answers it himself
first. At some length.
Everybody knows where
this bulldozer's going, and it's
going as slowly as a slug:
to the town of Consensus:
Population, 1.
If the meetings went
more quickly; if
the manipulation were
more artful; if the palming
of the pea were less clumsy,
the group might be less
bored, although it would
be just as demoralized.
These sluggish eddies
of power characterize
the middle class, one learns.
hans ostrom 2016
a meeting, and he asks
a question of the group
and then answers it himself
first. At some length.
Everybody knows where
this bulldozer's going, and it's
going as slowly as a slug:
to the town of Consensus:
Population, 1.
If the meetings went
more quickly; if
the manipulation were
more artful; if the palming
of the pea were less clumsy,
the group might be less
bored, although it would
be just as demoralized.
These sluggish eddies
of power characterize
the middle class, one learns.
hans ostrom 2016
False Autobiography
I was born with an ax in my hand.
I had lunch with Hailie Selassie.
I know how to make alfalfa soup.
For a year after my 17th birthday, I cried blue
tears when I cried.
In high school, I lettered in varsity ballet.
I have climbed the highest mountain in Paraguay.
I was once hired by Iceland to spy on Greenland.
continues to devastate America like a demonic plague.
*this part is true
hans ostrom 2016
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