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

Transformation: Dementia

He remembers language
but not his memory. He speaks
of what he sees. He scratches
his knees. A straggling memory
wanders by, covered with soot
from a burnt whole life.

To this memory he says hello.
Does not recall why he said
hello. Does not recall that
he said hello. He doesn't
remember scratching his knees.
He speaks. He sees. He listens
to speaking he speaks. It does
not interest him. This does:
An aroma. Of . . .?

He falls asleep in front of
what he sees. Outside of his sleep,
we speak of what we remember
of his memory using some of
the language he used to recall.


hans ostrom 2017

Beware the Troubled Aged

People worry about "troubled youth."  Okay, fine.
They should save their alarm for the troubled
aged.  Who travel in gangs demanding help
with digital technology. Who form squads

of know-it-alls wearing funny hats. Who
tell you when their nation was great
but never specify how.  And they protest--
clogging cities worldwide, carrying signs

like "Kill Time," "We Still Like Sex" (the horror),
and "What Do We Want?--We Can't Remember!"
It's real, it's dangerous, and it's coming
to your town. I say the aged should

love it or leave it, cut their remaining hair,
get a job (again), work within the system,
and turn down their goddamned music.
Let's make this country young again.


hans ostrom 2016

To Aging Friends

Oh, my aging friends,
what illnesses and
infirmities await us?

We hope to sail
along indefinitely
in these bodies.

We know we'll
be intercepted
and boarded by pirates.

The rigging creaks.
Boat-loads of young
women pass.

At best, they ignore
us, at worst laugh
at our sad crafts.

The aging are
a patient armada sailing
under a tie-dyed flag.

Ah, my aging friends,
let's drink wine in moonlight
on this our rolling deck.


Hans Ostrom, 2012