POETRY BY SUSAN OSTERMAN

 

Susan Osterman: Literary Biography & Links

Meow Means Om

Ophelia

Musings

The Neighbors

Halloween: On The Prowl

Sunday  

Sara Lee Blues   

80's Poem Or Relief Is Just A Poem Away 

The Pope Says  

Angels!!! - What Is Life But A Bed Of Flowers 

Palm Tree Murmurings 

Cat  

Is Peroxide Proper For An Amputated Cat's Shoulder Skin? 

Maybe My Angel Was Gay

 

LITERARY BIOGRAPHY

Susan Osterman, a NYC-based poet and performance poet has written 3 collections of poetry: Silence and Slow Time, Strip Mining, and A Head of Her Time.

Osterman has been widely published in the U.S.A. and Europe (150 poems in various literary magazines and anthologies, including The Village Voice, Downtown, Cover Arts New York, and Colorado North Review), and translated into Russian (Gnosis Bilingual Anthology).


She has been nominated for a Pushcart Prize. Her work is being taught in English courses in one New York State High School for advanced English and writing students, and in several CUNY community college courses.
 

Additional samples of her poetry may be found on the following websites:


http://www.sosterman.blogspot.com


http://hometown.aol.com/dunalorne

 

http://www.libertyhillpoetry.org/Osterman.htm

 

Recent publications include:


I MAELSTROM, THE POETRY MOTEL, LIBERTY HILL PRESS, COMMON GROUND, THE INDIANA REVIEW, THE CLARK STREET REVIEW,
TAJ MAHAL REVIEW and NOMAD'S CHOIR.

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MEOW MEANS OM



(i think the water is warmer whenever i'm not drowning.)

cat is doo-wap
radio is frisky and tame
light shines
all sleep

the light life of love
psychotherapy

the parable of the poet
the grasslands of greenland genius

the inspired the uninspired
my love for you
my free floating love for humanity
love
coercion

twelve step programs
existence for posterity

my wish for my doo-wap cat
my unfounded principality
my wish you loved me

my stolen typewriters
o my stolen typewriters

my love of life
your life of love

play play
play with doo-wap

my mother's wish that the ten commandments
were still in effect
her wish at 75
that people still cared

the ten commandments
doo-wap
do the right thing
the cat's whiskers

doo-wap

pleasure
health
wealth

sobriety as a religion

try health this time
give up give up give up ½

patch the wealthy
love poverty

my editor my editor is evaporating
my handsome-ever-handsome poplograghic editor (sic)

john wesley harding
numerous assorted fools
john wesley harding & disciples
outlaws lovers crooks

typewriter broken tough

the lovely person you aren't

the life of reilly

"That time of year thou mayest in me behold"

and the doo-wap cat i once was
and still am
hopping in pleasure

lyrically wound and tightly unwrapped

voice of every soul

distant runner
on time's remote shore

insecurity and drugs

bohemian?
what's bohemian?

insecurity and mice and doo-wap cats
the cat's jumping is perfect doo-wap!

waving wheatfields

drugs & sweet wine
twelve-step programs
existence for posterity

i have gone around in tight skirts
i use my sexuality as a smoking gun
i have no choice
it uses itself against me

i want life easy i want dash & dash & --
to love me

the left margin in contact with the right: no space

the answering machine is purring cat doo-wap½
the answering machine is purring cat doo-wap ½

each soul knelt to pray
a city of knees
god's ego is too big

nada
zilch
rien

cat doo-wop the beat of life,
stay on top of the water

don't drown
stay doo-wap stay sexy stay young

the 80 year old
stays flexible & thinks
the 40 year old is "just beginning"
the 40 year old thinks the 20 year old
a child

i think the water is warmer whenever I'm not drowning

i think cat is doo-wap and doo-wap is 50s
life is doo-wap

the song of the spheres is essential and real

i definitely defer to cats
& doo-wap music
they bop; they keep me alive
doo-wap bop bop bop

how wonderful it is to fly

how wonderful to come down to earth

how wonderful to live

i think every song enters god's ear
and reverberates into blind sunlight

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OPHELIA


I
Ophelia is floating on water under stars
slowly like a lily
a lily in veils and flowers
and the sounds of the kill in the distance

sad mad Ophelia has lain on water
since the beginning of time
a white phantom on a black sea

Sweet Ophelia has been kissed
on her breasts
reeds stoop to kiss her

II
Ophelia is snowywhite
a goddess carried off by the sea!
the winds whispered to you of freedom
and you flung yourself into the sea

A breath twisted your golden hair
with rumors, with dreams
you listened to the winds and the sea
the trees and the nights captured you

the clamor of mad seas
broke your child's heart, too human, too soft
the clamor of a handsome madman prince
who sat mutely at your knee
breaking your heart

you melted the prince
snow to a fire
and your visions were wordless
and terror blinded your blue eyes

III
and the poet says that in starlight
you search for the flowers you'd gathered
and that he sees a great white lily
on the black water
in long veils
in white flowers
O lady of lilies
O lady of dreams

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MUSINGS

     For William Carlos Williams
         i
have decided

        as the

           daisies grow

             to aim my eyes

                    skyward

                             towards emptiness

                             where no one sits

                                watching us.

                   An old bearded

dozing man on the

              uptown IRT

        reminded me of God:

i looked at him
                         (for a sign)
                 as i disembarked


     but his eyes remained closed.

                        he seemed

                             as a flower
                    silently being

             a part of nothingness.

                       Maybe God

                  sits in subways these days

                       with his eyes closed

like a baby

                          wise noble

                                    with too many years

                           to watch us anymore
                                                                  in subway cars.


          Pearl Harbor

                                                    may have disinterested him

                      as well as

                                my subway ride

           or hippies becoming yuppies

                because he may already have

                       been bored by

                                Eve's transgression

                                                                       or Hitler's
                   By Vietnam
                                         he had surely given up.

                              he probably dozes

                                                           through all the

                                                            Warhol flicks too.
                      he may have no

                                                     sense of humor left

                                             no mercy no pity

                                                                     for us any longer.

                              yet he still

                          makes white daisies &

                                                                       blue feathered peacocks
                        so he can't be

                                             totally asleep

                        or maybe he does
that in his sleep
                    perhaps they are

                  His dreams...

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THE NEIGHBORS

the neighbors are dressed in leopardskin
they are partying
laughing
married happily dieting
working
enjoying life
the neighbors
look thru their blinds
blinded with joy
only gossip to me
the neighbors
are crying in their beer
but i dont see this
i see the plump red apple
the parties the marriages the diets
hunky-dory plans
the neighbors
are fucking the right man/woman
the neighbors
are addressing themselves to reality
as i sit and weave threads of fiction
to drape threadbare reality
the neighbors
may not write poetry
but still they survive
babies marrying dieting

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HALLOWEEN: ON THE PROWL

today is halloween
aggressive children
are hounding me for candy
painfully reminding me
that i'm an adult

halloween and i've
had a fight with
my boyfriend and
am looking for a way
to get away from him

halloween and old
lechers on the street
mutter trick or treat
through their teeth

men try to pick me up
by asking if i've got
candy in my bag---
my bag full of books

finally i meet a sister
who buys cake and chocolate
ice cream and we discuss
how fucked up men are
and she says to keep
on writing feminist poetry
and don't listen to men

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SUNDAY

I

lack of
peripheral vision
sent
hoards of
butterflies
flying
into my face

II

creative people
carry a strong burden
lifting ideas

African violets
grow this way

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SARA LEE BLUES
 


     for Sara Lee Brownies

Sara Lee with deep brown eyes
nobody doesn't like you
i met you under greygrey skies
'twas then i had to bite you

I saw you in your cardboard dress
and when i took it off
your creamy brown skin was a mess
man i had to laugh

i didn't stop to talk to you
i took you in my mouth
then i was no longer blue
together we flew south

you'll never know my Sara dear
what a fine lover you've been
you've assuaged my every fear
including being lean

as we lie so happy there
i bite into your walnuts
i think about our sweet affair
and wonder if we're all nuts.

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80's POEM OR RELIEF IS JUST A POEM AWAY
 


swallow this
injection of reality
you barbarian

poems be important
despite their market
spiritual perfections
never sold well
only a god sells
who makes reparations
for everything
heaven, hell & orgasm
are all that matters
& all that ever will
period

this poetry writing
man
why do they do they

it's devil-inspired
i say, says jesus lady
Sylvia Plath made
love wid ole Lucifer
that's why she lost
her hubby
Ted Hughes
(& her life, of course)
a woman's place
is having babies

And, goddamit, man
I'm trying to write
The Great Amer. poem

women working
women praying
women working
women praying

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THE POPE SAYS
 


pontiff warns
ladies

to beware
women's lib

diverts them
from their

main duty
belch babies

Spawn!
the main job
is to spread your
legs, take the schmuck
in, forget your diaphragm,
and, chucking, pop
one out, one more
poor indian
sans tribe...

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ANGELS!!!---WHAT IS LIFE BUT A BED OF FLOWERS
 


What is life but a bed of flowers?
Lie down: angels will protect you
Smell the coffee; smell the flowers
You will awake whenever you wish to

Violins will give you sweet dreams
Dainty maidens will dance around you
Forming a daisy chain
Whilst you slumber

Do you wish a bowl of cherries?
Whatever you imagine will be yours
Handsome lads and comely maids-in-waiting
Even love on a platter

Happy, O Happy
we will all be
in the home of the rave
and the bourgeoisie

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PALM TREE MURMURINGS
 


                   for my Aunt Dorothy

a simple palm tree
palm tree wine and honey
declaring its intentions
to the broad tolerant
sun
the sun is constant
warm and strong
it can hold you
in its arms
a universal, perhaps agnostic lover
just as it holds the
proud spreading green fan
we call a palm tree
its trunk gathered in
organic gray suit
of horizontal
concentric circles

listen, it whispers

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CAT


       (For Grendel)

on a window
a cat sits perched
innocent, neutered
afraid of dogs
and torture
by those
creatures with
2 legs
and strong arms
cats are lucky
because they don't
fall in love
or develop migraines
or worship a deity

cats are lucky
because they eat
everyday
--- house pets, that is ---
without ever lifting a paw
they have no hassles
over unemployment checks
or bosses
they are independently fluffy

cats are lucky
because they move fast
and hide in
infinitely small spaces
and crawl and hiss
with indignation
when their territory
is invaded
cats are lucky
because if you
fall in love with them
they are never the wiser
perhaps wiser than we think
they have 9 lives
maybe improving as each one
slides by
quietly and furrily
they know the saying
"it's a dog's life"
and act accordingly
i.e., like cats
which is, after all,
all one can expect of a
cat....

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IS PEROXIDE PROPER FOR AN AMPUTATED CAT'S SHOULDER SKIN?
 


is hydrogen peroxide proper
on a cat's shoulder?
is a little shown skin
on the skin line of an amputation
a problem or can it
abide all innocence
still, still intact
w/ or w/o cancer, Denise
you crawl a little bit stranger now
down the hallways of yr rather
limited experience

not limited in love
but in the varieties of human twisted motives
our limited visions & carnage

I took you in catbox to animal
hospital w/ yr 4 legs
& you returned with 3
how can you ever trust me again?
next time I put you in catbox
you urinate: yellow fear
with your large green eyes
the beauty and sweetness
nature endowed you with
the mellow and cool love outlook
for us 2-leggers

Denise, you are brave
you are jumping
into brave new spaces
in people's hearts
all the time
3 days after your right arm came off
you are jumping onto the sofa
jumping 3-legged into brave new spaces in my heart


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MAYBE MY ANGEL WAS GAY

 

For Arthur Rimbaud

J'ai embrassé l'aube d'été. (I have held the summer dawn in my arms.) From "Aube" by A. Rimbaud
.

Arthur who loved Paul Verlaine as a
schoolboy, a tiger, a mentor
their orgasms were illegal
Whose young old heart
exhilarated Verlaine's drunken rhymes

Arthur so gifted with life
born anew each moment
caressing the blue nights of summer
with his naked head and naked feet

seeing the blue in nature
the soft sound of the gift of genius
rattling through his lice-ridden hair
arthur who got drunk
and punctuated the rhymers of no talent
with line-ending syllable "merde!"
arthur whose only money
was the rain from blue skies
whose only food was starvation
whose only car was his long legs
whose only shelter was the rain
on his unarmed head

arthur now more myth
than man
we have only your words
but that is enough
my brother of another universe

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