Where You're Coming From

You can go only
from where you are,
the where being your
heavy body, as light
as it might be, a
neural factory you
take with you on the road,
any way whatever. You know

you're more than body,
but it is where you are,
your starting point
and final destination.

You must start from there,
and the end could come
anywhere but will be with
your body there with you,
of you. This is the paradox,

the dilemma, which inspires
dreams--and impulses
to create: points and routes
of escape, of play, of another way.

hans ostrom 2023

Spinoza

 (Baruch de Spinoza, 1632-1677)

there in the Hague

Spinoza sat, grinding

lenses, making a living

from clarity.

Jews expelled him,

Christians menaced 

him, just because

he wrote that

God was the sum 

of all parts--the 

only complete

being and the property

of no religion

but only of Godself.

it came as cold 

news. worse,

it made

and makes

a certain amount

of sense.

"Heraclitus," by William Conroy

Two-stanza poem about the philosopher (c. 535-475 B.C.) who believed the universe was made of fire and changed constantly. He's also given credit for the admonition, "You can't step in the same river twice" [because the river constantly changes form]. Gerard Manley Hopkins wrote a poem called "That Nature Is a Heraclitan Fire," managing both to agree with Heraclitus and to assert the Judeo-Christian God's supremacy. Heraclitus lived in area called "Caria," so the speaker of the poem calls him "my Carian guest." The area was in what is now Turkey, and it was controlled by Persians at the time. This poem is very pro-bird.

link: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9ARAfSswCGk

Anyway, Give It a Try

Socrates or the committee
that built the Temple of Delphi
or someone else said, "Know
thyself." The-philosophy.com
calls this "a moral epistemolo-
gical injunction." A search warrant.
Know thyself: Good luck with that.

It's frequently exhausting just
taking care of oneself, family,
friends, work, pets. Then there's
the community and, in theory,
pleasure. True self-knowledge
is like that vacation you never take.

It's also an illusion, one of the
all-time best. I wonder if
Socrates knew what kind of person
goes around advising other
people, "Know thyself."


hans ostrom 2020                  

Wittgenstein's Progress

After trying to reduce
philosophy to mathematics,
Wittgenstein went on
to explore a forest
of rhetoric and psychology,
of banter and brain.


hans ostrom 2018

Good News: You Seem to Exist

"That there is something is the first, most obvious, and best known thing conceived by our intellect and all the rest follows" --Umberto Eco, Kant and the Platypus 

"I think; therefore, I am"--a bit self-centered,
Rene. "It is, even if it's not what it seems

or seems different depending who or what
records the seeming"--awfully inelegant--
but better? Here's the thing:

something exists. Can I I be more specific?
Can the something? The questions answer
yes implicitly, being more specific themselves.

Here is a word: exits. Exits exist, or seem so to you
and so they do, and therefore so do you, so take one

to a fine and rational place.


hans ostrom 2018

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

Nutritious, Too

It was a little bistro, as I recall, located
somewhere between Sierra City, California,
and Istanbul. "Tabula Rasa" was the name.
Minimalist dining. Never to be found using
GPS. Somehow they block the signal.

Minimalist dining. No decorations.
Simple wooden tables. Two kinds of soup,
one kind of bread, olive oil. One type
of salad, one entree. No specials.
Water and/or vodka. Table white, table red.

Servers wore white aprons and did
not reveal their names.  They opened
the conversation with philosophical
questions, such as, "Is language
a medium of deception?" (I think
I answered, "It depends." )

Ten different desserts, three ports,
several brandies and scotches.
Absinthe. It kind of sneaks up on you,
a place like that. Impressions are made
on your senses. Things about a bistro
of this nature catch in memory's webbing.

Yeah, and after the kitchen closed,
the dancers came out. The lighting
changed.  Tables disappeared. Short
surrealist films appeared on the walls.
I think of it now as a transformative
dining experience.


hans ostrom 2016

Design or Accident

That which happens, especially the bad:
is it design or accident? we ask.
Often we ask it. Many who are also human
will provide responses. You have
heard the range of answers.

Reality, that
universal beast, does not
respond, except for its
continual and infinite shrug,
which can be interpreted
as yes or no or maybe
or I don't understand the question.



hans ostrom 2013

why do people?

why do people like pickles?
why do they buy pickles, hey?
why do people use phones?
why do people make poetry?
why do people claim
they do have homes?
listen to the people.
they say, and they say, and
they say.the
people say!

why do people hate people?
why do people torture people?
why do people think people
ain't people? you'
got to be
crazy
to
think that.

maybe you have been an
Ain't People.
hey, maybe you know how
it feels.
for reals.
--feels to be seen
as less than nothing.
knows what it's like
to stand there,
wond-ring. wond-ring
why oh why,
why me?

Oh Lord Ah God
oh true and only one.
you are bigger than
the sun. Please will
you freight in
some answers
about this plight,
this fate, this one.

(oh, yes, this one.)



hans ostrom 2013

Happeningness

The happeningness
of reality never pauses,
"is" being a fiction,
a slice of approximation
imagined to be there
between "was" and "will be."
No wonder wonder
sometimes tires me.


hans ostrom 2013

The Organoids

I enjoy how science hunts down philosophy
like a big cat on a plain:

the clever bastards now make
organoids--
yes, that's right, brains
in vats, the old
thought-experiment.

Yes, of course, maybe
it's a case of brains in vats
imagining
they're making brains in vats;
and of

other brains in vats imagining
they're reading and writing
about same. Alas, not likely.
Occam's Razor slices a leak
in vats of that sort.

I do hope there is a neo-funk-
rock-digital-punk-post-sexual
band out there now named
"The Organoids." That,

by the way, is something my
brain thought, some meager
morsel a big cat might snack on.


hans ostrom 2013

And So It Begins--the Semester, That Is

I'm re-posting a short poem to mark the beginning of the semester or quarter at many colleges.

"Dialogue on a College Campus"

That Is The Real

*
*
*
*

That Is The Real

That is the real is the
that: seven words and two
dots; and now we're so
far into a sentence that
we're committed, or
should be, or should send it
to a committee for review.

Let's start fresh with you,
your nostrils, the things
around you right now
that stand for the world:
that for you is the real,
that is.


Copyright 2011 Hans Ostrom