Friday, September 11, 2015

Paul Hostovsky

I’ve always been a sucker for a story, which I guess is why my own poems are so hopelessly narrative.
~Paul Hostovsky

I'm a sucker for a story, too. Spotlighting poems by Paul Hostovsky today. The Kindle version of his book The Bad Guys is only $2.99!

Dusk Outside the Braille Press
by Paul Hostovsky

The lights go on in all the windows but one.
It's the one in the northeast comer
of the narrow three-story building
at 88 St. Stephen Street
where the proofreading department misses another
sunset. Some of the white canes lean against the wall
like backslashes in the unpunctuated dark,
and some lie folded underneath the chairs

read the rest here


In Praise of Poor Excuses
by Paul Hostovsky

Blessed are the poor excuses
for they are inherently of Earth.
Earth, that poor excuse for Heaven.
Heaven, that worst excuse of all
for not showing up for your own
life here on Earth, where all the poor excuses
live. Just listen to the poor excuses
singing together, hoisting another
draft of a poor excuse up to their lips

read the rest here


Not the End of the World
by Paul Hostovsky

"Unhand her, vagabond," was my one line i
n the school play. I had the part of the cop,
a minor role compared to Beth Levine's,
the heroine, or Billy Wiesenkopf's,

read the rest here


Be Mine
by Paul Hostovsky

I love mankind most
when no one's around.
On New Year's Day for instance,
when everything's closed
and I'm driving home on the highway alone

read the rest here


Trombone Lesson
by Paul Hostovsky

The twenty minutes from half past nine
to ten of ten is actually slightly longer
than the twenty minutes from ten of ten
to ten past ten, which is half downhill
as anyone who's ever stared at the hillocky
face of a clock in the 5th grade will tell you.

read the rest here


Since it is September 11, I thought maybe I should include the link for this old post about Team Rubicon.

The Poetry Friday round-up is at Life on the Deckle Edge


Author Amok said...

I had a chance to hear Paul Hostovsky read here in Baltimore a few years ago. His jazz poems are wonderful. Great humor in "Trombone Lesson" -- I bet your teen musicians enjoyed that one, Tabatha!

Linda Baie said...

I ate my lunch while reading all these wonders of poems, Tabatha, and they made my lunch the best one in a while! Since I, and my grandson, both play(ed) the trombone, I will be sure to share because I loved the truth of it, and since it seems so true, I'm assuming that all the others bring some truth with them too. Thanks. As always, you share wonderful things to know.

Michelle Heidenrich Barnes said...

I wasn't familiar with Paul Hostovsky until today. Thanks for remedying that, Tabatha. I'm especially enamored with "In Praise of Poor Excuses."

Margaret Simon said...

A poet who can turn a phrase over and around and upside down, I delighted in Be Mine, how such a simple gesture of kindness can be the whole world. Thanks for sharing.

Diane Mayr said...

I, too, found "In Praise of Poor Excuses" exceptionally praise-worthy. A delight--"and here and there
a few suspicious-looking grown-ups
gathering them into piles, into poems,"

Violet Nesdoly said...

Man he's good! I especially loved "Dusk Outside the Braille Press." I found it was such a novel viewing the world. Several lines caught me by surprise, especially this at the end:

"And the white canes are opening in a chorus
of switchblades
and beginning to cut their separate paths home."

Mary Lee said...

What fun! I love the "narrating rain" in Be Mine! We had some rain stories yesterday and this morning! The epilogue is being written in the swoosh of car tires on a wet street.

Irene Latham said...

Oh those poor excuses! I needed that poem today. Thank you, Tabatha. And thank you and your daughter for listening to Eric's newest song. :)

Robyn Hood Black said...

So glad to make this poet's acquaintance here, Tabatha! I didn't know him either, but happy to read these great poems and will look for more. :0)

katswhiskers said...

Dusk at the Braille Press ... love. How beautiful and clever. So much to love in this! And that trombone poem... measuring time in slides and spit-valves. Thanks for sharing, Tabatha.