Hans Ostrom Poems
|321.||A Photograph Of The Day-Shift: North Star Mine,20 June 1938||10/23/2007|
|322.||Fossil Of A Wing||10/19/2007|
|323.||A Hod-Carrier Reflects||10/19/2007|
|324.||For Cafeteria Workers||2/5/2009|
|325.||And Now, Whether||10/12/2007|
|326.||How To Be A Cat||5/29/2008|
|328.||Langston Hughes And Barack Obama||1/20/2009|
|329.||How To Write A Poem: A Poem||5/11/2009|
Comments about Hans Ostrom
In a wilderness of reasons
not to write, he wrote. Just wrote.
Each word was the belief
in the possibility of the next.
He kept it going.
Mostly his days and words talk
quietly, though he could rant and rage.
Mention is what his voices usually do
in a world of self-convinced noise.
Truth mentioned is a sweet brass
note you’ll never forget. Writing,
Langston showed writing to be
an unashamed act, one of the few
in a shameful, shaming world. Words
grin. Words reside. Words throw
a meal together for unexpected friends,
make a garden...
The Mother Of All Poems
When I think about writing the mother
of all poems that is to say a big serious
poem about my mother, I think about
the poem I wrote, in Karl Shapiro's class,
about how a piano contains all notes,
all potential melodies, etc., in some kind
of ideal way. And after I read it, Shapiro
said to the class, 'D.H. Lawrence wrote
a poem about a piano, but it was really