Two-Faced Time

Time, the vicious versatile thug:

pickpocket, shoplifter, burglar,

armed robber, assassin, dictator . . . .

Why can't Time get a real job

like the rest of us?

Time, robust provider:

opener of space for life.

Enabler of Evolution. 

Angel of music. Parent

of our necessary illusions.

Kind casino boss, who gives us

good chances to win 

encounters with the Mystery

that may be God.

hans ostrom 2024

River Run Dry

 thinking of Ann Monroe

Though we may not know it then,
some goodbyes are forever. She
cried in the cafe--cold-rain Spring
day. We went to her place and made
love just one more time. Her black hair.

We drifted like untied rowboats
in a harbor. One hot Summer day,
we met to say goodbye. Decades
rolled by like freight trains, clack-clack,
on the time track. I see her

face on that goodbye day. When
both of us thought in frames of hours,
days, weeks, months. I don't recall
precisely what we said besides, "Okay,
see you later. Bye." I know neither
of us thought forever. And those decades

later, after no contact, I heard she
died. I felt like I stood on a cliff,
looking down, down, into a deep
canyon in which a river had run dry.
I wrote a note on one of those
obituary sites online. It felt like
scribbling with charcoal
on a canyon wall no one would see.

Hans Ostrom 2024

It Does Go On

grandparents

carry parts of their
grandparents,
who carry their grandparents
and on

it goes, back
to plains of migration,
sweltering cities, old
farms and factories
in Africa, Asia, and other masses
between waters.

shapes of noses,
little phrases, species
of will,
imaginations,
entries

in almanacs of ailments,
tastes, gifts, preferences
for tart rhubarb.
sweet watermelon, blazing
peppers, a sense
for gardening that lives
in the hands, songs
in the throat.

IT does go on,
a continuum that
shrugs off egos, ignores
prejudice and hatred, and
collects little bits of us
to pack
in the cargo of ships
sailing into Time, across
the waters of Space.

hans ostrom 2023

Personal Relativity

They tell me time seems

to speed up the older people get
because each day, month, or year
becomes a smaller and smaller
percentage of the overall total.
I hate math, so cold, so correct.

I recall school years
that dragged on for decades.
A magical summer or two
lasted a millennium. Then

the time wagon turned into
a bullet train and five years
became a minute. Whole years
vanished like peas down a sink.

Today a woman said to me,
"I'm 70 years old. What
happened?" I said, "Ask that
bastard, time. Happy birthday!"

The Golden Butterfly

In an old Gold Rush town's cemetery

on a hillside, summer, we were building
a cinder block enclosure for a family plot.

I stood up for a moment
to unkink the back and gazed
from the shade of the big
graveyard oaks, down the hill
to where brilliant sunlight shown.

I saw a golden butterfly
take its lazy, jagged, jazzy
flight into the light
and finally out of my vision.
Back to work.

The image has lived with me
since then, alighting like a butterfly
on a tall flower, lowering and lifting
its stiff, patterned wings,
trying to defy time.

To Have Been: Old Letters

To keep old letters,

or to throw them away?--
much more difficult
than Hamlet's question.

Letters from my mother
in her neat handwriting--
to me when I taught
in Germany. Letters

from former girlfriends--
& "girlfriend" now seems
as antique as ink missives
crawling along mail routes.

I hate to destroy someone's
writing. I see the people
sitting at a desk or a table,
taking time to shape sentences,

to somehow slip news
and feeling into scrawl....
sealing the envelope....
attaching stamps....

Words, preserved--
a pickling of thought.
Eventually we all have to
wreck evidence of our lives:

To have been, or not to have been.

hans ostrom 2023

Actually, No

As time (as we think of it)
rolls and spins along,
the maybes morph into nevers:

Maybe I'll visit Albania
or Paraguay one day: No,
never. Maybe I'll see one
of my first-ever loves again,
just one more time--
yes, perhaps her--the one who
lives in Long Beach. No, never,
for she just died.

hans ostrom 2022

Silver Valley Vision

 

this river swims in time.  this sky

flies through emptiness.  we live

forever every moment as love

falls into people.  fuel consumes

fire, and rain drinks Earth.  I saw

a thousand angels moving through

a silver valley.  low clouds

picked them up, changed them

into snow, conveyed them over

mountains, let them go. oh, let them go.

hans ostrom circa 1995/revised 2021

 

"Time Passing, Beloved," by Donald Davie

 reading/video of a poem by Donald Davie, British poet, scholar, and professor--he taught in the U.S. at Stanford and Vanderbilt:

link: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hTG7Pyy5m28

Narrow Present

No, you can't close the future
to make repairs. The past
is always open but people
tend to bring back the wrong
things from it. I find the present
to be very narrow, choked
as it is with ignorance and hatred.
Maybe now it will get the airing
out it has forever needed.


hans ostrom

From a Diary of the Plague Year (4)

The universe occurs
all over again always
now and then. The bustling
biological fuzz on Earth's
crust crackles. Humans
pursue strategies for hiding
from something they can't
see, a maddening minute
enemy. Other forms
of life--birds, fish--
stay busy with their
evolved tasks and necessary
ambitions. I pretend to draw
a box around it all
and call it Today.


hans ostrom 2020

Can You Spare a Moment of Your Time?

I was trying to balance
a moment on my nose. It
fell off and rolled. The moment,
I mean. I lost it.

When next I sweep under
the disreputable couch,
I'm sure I'll find it amongst
a wad of dust-fur, pennies,

a sock, and something plastic. It
appears I did have a moment to spare. 

In the Moment

There is a way to climb into
a moment and stay as long as you like.
Once inside, you may touch
the moment's lining, which
could be glass, fur, mud, air,
tungsten--anything, really.

Other people can join you
in there although that's rare.
The moment can stretch
and expand to accommodate.

The moment's relationship
with time is oblique, as is your
relationship with yourself,
especially when you are
in the moment.


hans ostrom 2020

Outside the Norseman Pub with Time

Outside the Norseman Pub in Dublin,
Time heard me thinking of  dates
& events in one of its pasts. "What are you
thinking about those for?" asked Time.

"You need to move on."

Three Irish women walked by.
Their lilting, lovely conversation
played in the air like aural butterflies.
(I don't think Yeats would have liked

that comparison.) "See," I said
to Time, "I can do the present,
too, so leave me alone." Highlights
in the women's hair shone. 


hans ostrom 2019

Time and Me

Time lies in bed beside me.
I put my arm around her. Time
takes walks with me. He is

an old man shuffling. Time
goes to the magic shows
in my mind, where illusions
of vast futures make

the audience feel immortal.
Time advises me. It is a
rationalist. It is a poet.
Time occurs in space,

which takes its time,
all time, with it.

Time is a goat
that will eat anything
and be sacrificed.


hans ostrom 2019

Betty's Version of Time

Every death shatters time. For instance,
Betty, 92 years old, died, eased (we tell
ourselves) out on a morphine drip. Her
consciousness housed a vast museum

of time with complex installations composed
of fantastic materials perception had gathered
and memory had refined into alloys. There
were fabrics woven of intimacies, light,

fear, houseplants, brooms, secret beliefs,
desires, cooking, laughing, parenting, and
itching. Neuro-video loops played on angled
surfaces. Betty's sense of Betty

powered the place, a generator deep
in the basement. It all collapsed in an instant
just after 3:00 p.m. one day. Betty's magnificent
version of time, gone.


hans ostrom 2018

Miffle's Expanding Tardiness

Miffle asked Lubi what time it was.
Lubi said, "It's the eternal present
of an expanding universe." Krokson

interrupted the two. He said,
"Actually, it's about five minutes
after the eternal present of an

expanding universe." "Oh,
Hell," said Miffle, "in that
case, I'm late!" "For what?"

asked Lubi. "I don't know,"
replied Miffle. Krokson said,
"That's unfortunate--for now

your tardiness may expand not
unlike the universe.



hans ostrom 2018

Of Time and the Prairie

There's a lot of prairie
under all those cities.
It isn't waiting--that's
a sad human thing. It
is, however, prepared--
ready for any histories
that come along to replace
the previous ones.



hans ostrom 2017

The Vast Hall

Another group has rented
the vast hall here. We must leave.

We didn't know this day would come.
We knew a day would.

Yes, of course I'm confused
and afraid, as if I'd been hollowed

out and panic had been poured in.
I'm also greedy for more time

in this grand space. That's so small
of me.  A door will open,

and a door will close. The simplicity
of it is appalling.



hans ostrom2017

Today in Memory World

Another brilliant day
of pretending to recover
time by accessing images
of spaces-past and a few
of the people in them then,
including us. It's a strange
system, but it's about all
we have. Meanwhile, we
continued to float down the
river for the first and last time.



hans ostrom 2017