Nostalgia and Evolution

I wonder why Evolution
selected nostalgia as a trait
worth packing in perpetuation's
luggage. Maybe it's useful
to have people around who know
how things used to be done
(and never stop talking about them).

Sentimental yearning may lower
blood pressure. Or maybe those
who survive because of other
factors live long enough to have
a past to miss, so that nostalgia
just hitches a ride--which is something
people used to do all the time.
In fact, I remember . . . .


hans ostrom 2020

Erstwhilers

Yeah, I'm an erstwhiler. From
the province of used-to-be.
I used to exchange letters
with people. In handwriting.
Sometimes three, four pages.

I listened to the radio, lived
decades without a cell phone,
had no social network outside
the immediate. I know a vast
amount of things that are
no longer the case.

I got exiled to here and now,
where we erstwhilers have adapted
to the extent we fake it. We're
virtually tech-friendly, though
in our hearts we remain analogous.
We got used to getting our music
in a new form every decade.

We're obsolete. It's okay. It
doesn't hurt. Erstwhilers
aren't nostalgic. Just slightly
displaced, always at angle
from what's going on. We're
always a moment away
from saying something which,
if not stupid, at least sounds
that way. May it take you a
long time to join us.


hans ostrom 2020

Bell Sound from an Iron Bell

Nostalgia asked,
"Don't you prefer the sound
of a bell to come from a bell?"
I answered, "Yes, but not
because of you." It's true.


hans ostrom 2018

The Advertisers

They went to a lot of trouble
because they didn't know any better.
We speak of advertisers, decades
ago.  They crafted heavy metal
signs in the shape of a flying
horse (petrol). They made radio
and TV commercials as subtle
as pile-drivers. They showed
stag films to unsavory clients,
lots of smoke and leg. A steak,
potatoes, beans, martinis, and
pie a la mode every night:
deserving of a medal, maybe.
In retro-spectro-vision, I guess
the marketeers were as obvious,
naive, and simple as us, their
targets. Because they were targets, too.



hans ostrom 2016

"A Well, and the Cherry Trees, Swaying," by Alexey Tolstoy

Alexey Tolstoy's father was a distant relative of Leo Tolstoy.

Corresponding With Nostalgia

(re-posting one from 2009)

Corresponding With Nostalgia

The correspondence used to be
Composed of pulp and ink,
Now seems elaborate and slow,
Indeed antique, I think.

The mail comes digitally now,
Encoded on the air.
Yes, personality persists.
And no, it isn't fair

To say we write robotically.
The wait and weight of post--
The palpability of what
I read, I miss the most.


Yet now I'm totally plugged in,
Am tethered to my screens.
I send and post, receive and text.
("Text" now's a verb, it seems.)

A letter to Nostalgia, yes:
I think that's what I'll write.
It will come back: "No such address."
Electrons are Nostalgia's site.
*
*
Copyright 2009 Hans Ostrom

Those Weren't The Days

I found your aluminum parachute.
You weren't nearby, thank goodness.

I still have your wood carving
of a chainsaw. Cute.

(Using a tractor),I ran across
 a photo of you and me.

I don't miss you but I still talk
about you to people, mentioning

your hammer-toe and other
minor flaws. Ah, you and I,

back then. In fact, those
weren't the days, my friend.



hans ostrom 2013

Refuse to Race

Whatever happened to what happened?
I knew Chronos was quick, but now it seems
to have vroomed some more velocity.

Even the young with hard thighs, smart
lies, brassy brains, and big chests
seem prematurely nostalgic.

If you're always trying to catch up,
for God's sake and yours, stop.
Settle down in being

behind and let the future go
fuck itself--because it's going to
anyway.  This thing's a race

only if you agree to run.


Copyright 2012 Hans Ostrom