1

http://www.agingcare.com/Articles/cranky-old-man-legend-157110.htm

The Legend of the “Cranky Old Man”

From Zeus and Europa, to Paul Bunyan and Babe the Blue Ox, every culture has its requisite legends and tall tales.

The culture of caregiving is no exception.

Thanks to, Jessie Belle, one of our AgingCare.com community members, we recently came across one of these legends in the form of this poem. The tale is said to be authored by an anonymous elderly gentleman, living in an Australian nursing home:

Cranky Old Man

What do you see nurses? . . .. . .What do you see?

What are you thinking .. . when you're looking at me?

A cranky old man, . . . . . .not very wise,

Uncertain of habit .. . . . . . . .. with faraway eyes?

Who dribbles his food .. . ... . . and makes no reply.

When you say in a loud voice . .'I do wish you'd try!'

Who seems not to notice . . .the things that you do.

And forever is losing . . . . . .. . . A sock or shoe?

Who, resisting or not . . . ... lets you do as you will,

With bathing and feeding . . . .The long day to fill?

Is that what you're thinking?. .Is that what you see?

Then open your eyes, nurse .you're not looking at me.

I'll tell you who I am . . . . .. As I sit here so still,

As I do at your bidding, .. . . . as I eat at your will.

I'm a small child of Ten . .with a father and mother,

Brothers and sisters .. . . .. . who love one another

2

A young boy of Sixteen . . . .. with wings on his feet

Dreaming that soon now . . .. . . a lover he'll meet.

A groom soon at Twenty . . . ..my heart gives a leap.

Remembering, the vows .. .. .that I promised to keep.

At Twenty-Five, now . . . . .I have young of my own.

Who need me to guide . . . And a secure happy home.

A man of Thirty . .. . . . . My young now grown fast.

Bound to each other . . .. With ties that should last.

At Forty, my young sons .. .have grown and are gone,

But my woman is beside me . . to see I don't mourn.

At Fifty, once more, .. ...Babies play 'round my knee,

Again, we know children . . . . My loved one and me.

Dark days are upon me . . . . My wife is now dead.

I look at the future ... . . . . I shudder with dread.

For my young are all rearing .. . . young of their own.

And I think of the years . . . And the love that I've known.

I'm now an old man . . . . . . .. and nature is cruel.

It's jest to make old age . . . . . . . look like a fool.

The body, it crumbles .. .. . grace and vigour, depart.

There is now a stone . . . where I once had a heart.

But inside this old carcass . A young man still dwells,

And now and again . . . . . my battered heart swells

I remember the joys . . . . .. . I remember the pain.

And I'm loving and living . . . . . . . life over again.

3

I think of the years, all too few . . .. gone too fast.

And accept the stark fact . . . that nothing can last.

So open your eyes, people .. . . . .. . . open and see.

Not a cranky old man.

Look closer . . . . see .. .. . .. .... . ME!!

After the man passed away, the nurses at the care home where he resided allegedly found this unpublished poem among his possessions. They were so inspired by its contents that they felt compelled to share his words with the world.

To be sure, this piece presents a poignant examination of the unforgiving, un-halting progress of life, not to mention the sense of invisibility felt by many older people.

But, there's more to the story behind this verse than most of its readers realize.

The original "cranky old man"

Another version of this tale holds that the "cranky old man" wasn't really a man at all—he was a woman. A nurse named Phyllis McCormack, to be exact. And she wasn't really cranky; merely empathetic to the plight of the aging adults she cared for.

McCormack, so the story goes, penned the first draft of the poem while working in a British hospital, sometime in the mid-1960s:

Crabbit Old Woman (aka: Kate, or Look Closer Nurse)

What do you see nurses? What do you see?

What are you thinking? When you are looking at me

A crabbit old woman not very wise,

Uncertain of habit, with far-away eyes,

Who dribbles her food, and makes no reply,

When you say in a loud voice,'I do wish you'd try'.

Who seems not to notice, the things that you do,

And forever is losing, a stocking or shoe,

Who unresisting or not, lets you do as you will

4

With bathing and feeding, the long day to fill,

Is this what you're thinking? Is this what you see?

Then open your eyes nurse, you're not looking at me.

I'll tell you who I am, as I sit here so still,

As I use at your bidding, as I eat at your will.

I'm a small child of ten, with a father and mother,

Brothers and sisters who, love one another,

A young girl of sixteen, with wings on her feet,

Dreaming that soon now, a lover she'll meet:

A bride soon at twenty, my heart gives a leap,

Remembering the vows, that I promised to keep:

At twenty-five now, I have young of my own 5

Who need me to build, a secure happy home.

A young woman of thirty, my young now grow fast,

Bound to each other, with ties that should last:

At forty my young ones, now grown will soon be gone,

But my man stays beside me, to see I don't mourn:

At fifty once more, babies play round my knee,

Again we know children, my loved one and me.

Dark days are upon me, my husband is dead,

I look at the future, I shudder with dread,

For my young are all busy, rearing young of their own,

And I think of the years, and the love I have known.

I'm an old woman now, and nature is cruel

5

'Tis her jest to make old age look like a fool.

The body it crumbles, grace and vigour depart,

There now is a stone, where I once had a heart:

But inside this old carcass, a young girl still dwells,

And now and again, my battered heart swells,

I remember the joys, I remember the pain,

And I'm loving and living, life over again,

I think of the years, all too few - gone too fast,

And accept the stark fact that nothing can last.

So open your eyes nurses, open and see,

Not a crabbit old woman, look closer - see ME.'

According to a 1998 article in the "Daily Mail" (a British newspaper), McCormack's son claimed that his mother had written the original verse for her hospital's magazine.

The "Cranky Old Man" version of the poem is said to have been later adapted from McCormack's version by David Griffith, a U. S. poet.

True legends need no author

The various legends surrounding this particular poem are so complex and have been re-told so many times that it's likely the original writer of the piece will never be truly verified.

A fact that does little to diminish the power of this epic ode.

Like the legends of old (the ones that resonate in the hearts and minds of people across the globe), the "Cranky Old Man," has taken on an identity of its own.

It doesn't have just one author—it has many.

The true poets are the older adults who feel forgotten and invisible, the doctors and nurses who provide much-needed medical services for these elderly men and women, and the caregivers who give comfort, care and support to their aging loved ones.

They are the ones who keep the story alive, however they choose to tell it.

To join in the discussion of this poem with other caregivers, see: Touching poem by an older man

6

http://www.hoax-slayer.com/cranky-old-man-poem.shtml

Cranky Old Man Poem

Outline

Message circulating via social media and email claims that a touching poem about growing old called

"Cranky Old Man" was found in the possessions of an old man who died in the geriatric ward of a

nursing home in an Australian country town.

Brief Analysis

This is an Australian version of several older stories that have circulated in the United States and the

UK for many years. The stories attached to this version of the poem are fictional. The scenario

described in the message did not happen and the poem was not found in the belongings of an old

man in a nursing home as claimed. The poem itself has a long and somewhat obscure history. The

original version featured an old woman rather than an old man and is sometimes attributed to

English nurse Phyllis McCormack who reportedly penned it in the 1960's. The "old man" version of

the poem was apparently adapted from the original by David L. Griffith of Texas and can be seen in

its original context on the poet's website.

Detailed analysis and references below example.

Last updated: July 25, 2012

First published: July 25, 2012

Article written by Brett M. Christensen

About Brett Christensen and Hoax-Slayer

Example

When an old man died in the geriatric ward of a nursing home in an Australian country town, it was believed that he had nothing left of any value. Later, when the nurses were going through his meagre possessions, They found this poem. Its quality and content so impressed the staff that copies were made and distributed to every nurse in the hospital.

One nurse took her copy to Melbourne. The old man's sole bequest to posterity has since appeared in the Christmas editions of magazines around the country and appearing in mags for Mental Health. A slide presentation has also been made based on his simple, but eloquent, poem.

And this old man, with nothing left to give to the world, is now the author of this 'anonymous' poem winging across the Internet.

7

Cranky Old Man

What do you see nurses? . . .. . .What do you see? What are you thinking .. . when you're looking at me? A cranky old man, . . . . . .not very wise, Uncertain of habit .. . . . . . . .. with faraway eyes? Who dribbles his food .. . ... . . and makes no reply. When you say in a loud voice . .'I do wish you'd try!' Who seems not to notice . . .the things that you do. And forever is losing . . . . . .. . . A sock or shoe? Who, resisting or not . . . ... lets you do as you will, With bathing and feeding . . . .The long day to fill? Is that what you're thinking?. .Is that what you see? Then open your eyes, nurse .you're not looking at me. I'll tell you who I am . . . . .. As I sit here so still, As I do at your bidding, .. . . . as I eat at your will. I'm a small child of Ten . .with a father and mother, Brothers and sisters .. . . .. . who love one another A young boy of Sixteen . . . .. with wings on his feet Dreaming that soon now . . .. . . a lover he'll meet. A groom soon at Twenty . . . ..my heart gives a leap. Remembering, the vows .. .. .that I promised to keep. At Twenty-Five, now . . . . .I have young of my own. Who need me to guide . . . And a secure happy home. A man of Thirty . .. . . . . My young now grown fast, Bound to each other . . .. With ties that should last. At Forty, my young sons .. .have grown and are gone, But my woman is beside me . . to see I don't mourn. At Fifty, once more, .. ...Babies play 'round my knee, Again, we know children . . . . My loved one and me. Dark days are upon me . . . . My wife is now dead. I look at the future ... . . . . I shudder with dread. For my young are all rearing .. . . young of their own. And I think of the years . . . And the love that I've known. I'm now an old man . . . . . . .. and nature is cruel. It's jest to make old age . . . . . . . look like a fool. The body, it crumbles .. .. . grace and vigour, depart. There is now a stone . . . where I once had a heart. But inside this old carcass . A young man still dwells, And now and again . . . . . my battered heart swells I remember the joys . . . . .. . I remember the pain. And I'm loving and living . . . . . . . life over again. I think of the years, all too few . . .. gone too fast. And accept the stark fact . . . that nothing can last. So open your eyes, people .. . . . .. . . open and see. Not a cranky old man . Look closer . . . . see .. .. . .. .... . ME!!

8

Remember this poem when you next meet an older person who you might brush aside without looking at the young soul within. We will all, one day, be there, too!

PLEASE SHARE THIS POEM (originally by Phyllis McCormack; adapted by Dave Griffith)

The best and most beautiful things of this world can't be seen or touched. They must be felt by the heart!

Detailed Analysis This touching and thought provoking poem, dubbed "Cranky Old Man", is currently circulating rapidly via social media posts and email. The poem relates life from the perspective of an elderly man whose nurses may just perceive a "cranky old man" who needs constant care rather than the man - and the rich lived life - behind the aged body. The poem is prefixed by a story that claims that the poem was found among the meager possessions of an old man who died in a nursing home in an Australian country town. However, the story that comes with this version of the poem is fictional. The poem was not found in the belongings of a nursing home resident in rural Australia as claimed. Nor was it found among the possessions of an old man who died in a hospital in Florida, USA or any other US location. In fact, there have been numerous - equally fictional - US based versions of the poem's supposed origin.

The poem itself has a long and somewhat convoluted history. The original version of the poem (included below) featured an old woman rather than an old man and was set in the UK. The poem has been known by several names, including "Crabbit Old Woman", "Kate", "Look Closer Nurse" and "What Do You See". For decades, the poem has been included in various publications in the United Kingdom often accompanied by the claim that the poem was found by nursing staff in the belongings of an old woman named Kate who died in a hospital's geriatric ward. Many versions claim that the hospital was located in Scotland. Others claim the hospital was in England or Wales.

In fact, the provenance of the piece remains somewhat hazy. However, credible reports suggest that the poem may actually have been written by Phyllis McCormack in 1966, who at the time was working as a nurse in a Scottish hospital. In a 2005 report about the poem for 'Perspectives on Dementia Care', 5th Annual Conference on Mental Health and Older, Joanna Bornat notes:

Amongst the responses to a small survey which I carried out in 1998 while researching attitudes to the poem 3 (Bornat, 2004) was a cutting from the Daily Mail newspaper in which the son of Phyllis McCormack, whose name is often linked with the poem as its discoverer, explained:

My mother, Phyllis McCormack, wrote this poem in the early Sixties when she was a nurse at Sunnyside Hospital in Montrose. Originally entitled Look Closer Nurse, the poem was written for a small magazine for Sunnyside only Phyllis was very shy and submitted her work anonymously.

9

A copy of the magazine was lent to a patient at Ashludie Hospital, Dundee, who copied it in her own handwriting and kept it in her bedside locker. When she died, the copy was found and submitted to the Sunday Post newspaper, attributed to the Ashludie patient. Since my mother’s death in 1994 her work has travelled all over the world... (Daily Mail, 12 March 1998).

Somehow this explanation rings true, though it immediately begs the question of how the origin story was constructed in the first place and whether the poem depends on an apparent myth for its continuing appeal. Encounters have been mixed as responses to the 1998 survey suggested.

The currently circulating "old man" variant of the piece is apparently an adaptation of the original by US poet David L. Griffith of Texas and can still be seen in its original context on his website. Griffith calls his adaptation of the poem "Too Soon Old" but it is also known as a "Crabby Old Man" and, as in the version included above, "Cranky Old Man."

The original version of the poem:

Crabbit Old Woman

What do you see, nurses what do you see

Are you thinking when you are looking at me

A crabbit old woman, not very wise,

Uncertain of habit, with faraway eyes,

Who dribbles her food and makes no reply

When you say in a loud voice --I do wish you'd try

Who seems not to notice the things that you do

And for ever is losing a stocking or shoe,

Who unresisting or not, lets you do as you will

With bathing and feeding, the long day to fill

Is that what you are thinking, is that what you see,

Then open your eyes, nurses, you're not looking at me.

10

I'll tell you who I am as I sit here so still,

As I used at your bidding, as I eat at your will,

I am a small child of ten with a father and mother,

Brothers and sisters who love one another,

A young girl of 16 with wings on her feet

Dreaming that soon now a lover she'll meet;

A bride at 20 -- my heart gives a leap,

Remembering the vows that I promised to keep

At 25 now I have young of my own

Who need me to build a secure, happy home;

A women of 30 my young now grow fast,

Bound to each other with ties that should last,

At 40 my young sons have grown and are gone;

But my man's beside me to see I don't mourn;

At 50, once more babies play around my knee.

Again we know children, my loved one me

Dark days are upon me, my husband is dead,

I look at the future, I shudder with dread,

For my young are all rearing young of their own

And I think of the years and the love that I've known.

I'm an old woman now and nature is cruel

'tis her jest to make old age look like a fool.

The body it crumbles, grace and vigor depart,

There is now a stone where once was a heart

11

But inside this old carcass a young girl still dwells

And now and again my battered heart swells

I remember the joys I remember the pain,

And I'm loving and living life over again.

I think of the years all too few - gone too fast,

And accept the stark fact that nothing can last.

So open your eyes, nurses open and see

Not a crabbit old women look closer - see me.

http://kraabel.tumblr.com/post/27651955273/when-an-old-man-died-in-the-geriatric-ward-of-a

When an old man died in the geriatric ward of a nursing home in an Australian country town, it was believed that he had nothing left of any value. Later, when the nurses were going through his meagre possessions, they found this poem. Its quality and content so impressed the staff that copies were made and distributed to every nurse in the hospital. One nurse took her copy to Melbourne. The old man’s sole bequest to posterity has since appeared in the Christmas editions of magazines around the country and appearing in mags for Mental Health. A slide presentation has also been made based on his simple, but eloquent, poem. And this old man, with nothing left to give to the world, is now the author of this ‘anonymous’ poem winging across the Internet.

Cranky Old Man What do you see nurses? ……What do you see? What are you thinking .. . when you’re looking at me? A cranky old man, … …not very wise, Uncertain of habit .… … . .. with faraway eyes? Who dribbles his food .. . … . . and makes no reply. When you say in a loud voice . .’I do wish you’d try!’ Who seems not to notice …the things that you do. And forever is losing … …… A sock or shoe? Who, resisting or not … … lets you do as you will, With bathing and feeding … .The long day to fill?

12

Is that what you’re thinking?. .Is that what you see? Then open your eyes, nurse .you’re not looking at me. I’ll tell you who I am … . .. As I sit here so still, As I do at your bidding, .… . as I eat at your will. I’m a small child of Ten . .with a father and mother, Brothers and sisters .… .. . who love one another A young boy of Sixteen … .. with wings on his feet Dreaming that soon now …… a lover he’ll meet. A groom soon at Twenty … ..my heart gives a leap. Remembering, the vows .. .. .that I promised to keep. At Twenty-Five, now … . .I have young of my own. Who need me to guide … And a secure happy home. A man of Thirty . .… . . My young now grown fast, Bound to each other …. With ties that should last. At Forty, my young sons .. .have grown and are gone, But my woman is beside me . . to see I don’t mourn. At Fifty, once more, .. …Babies play ‘round my knee, Again, we know children … . My loved one and me. Dark days are upon me … . My wife is now dead. I look at the future … … . I shudder with dread. For my young are all rearing .… young of their own. And I think of the years … And the love that I’ve known. I’m now an old man … … .. and nature is cruel. It’s jest to make old age … … . look like a fool. The body, it crumbles .. .. . grace and vigour, depart. There is now a stone … where I once had a heart. But inside this old carcass . A young man still dwells, And now and again … . . my battered heart swells I remember the joys … . .. . I remember the pain. And I’m loving and living … … . life over again. I think of the years, all too few …. gone too fast. And accept the stark fact … that nothing can last. So open your eyes, people .… . .… open and see. Not a cranky old man . Look closer … . see .. .…. …. . ME!! Remember this poem when you next meet an older person who you might brush aside without looking at the young soul within. We will all, one day, be there, too! PLEASE SHARE THIS POEM! The best and most beautiful things of this world can’t be seen or touched. They must be felt by the heart! Very Respectfully, Scott Sonnon www.breathinggift.com (My free book and video gift to you.)

13

http://www.sundaypost.com/news-views/uk/listen-to-the-response-to-the-cranky-old-man-poem-a-nurse-s-reply-1.253795

Listen to the response to “The Cranky Old Man” poem – “A Nurse’s Reply”

Internet hit “The Cranky Old Man” has a follow-up poem called “A Nurse’s Reply”.

Many readers got in touch with The Sunday Post after we printed the poem Look Closer last week.

Lots recalled another verse we published entitled A Nurse’s Reply.

The moving poem Look Closer is a plea by an elderly patient to those looking after her.

It urges carers to see beyond the frail, confused woman before them and consider the person within.

A ‘new’ version of the poem — The Cranky Old Man — has gained popularity on Facebook.

It’s mistakenly attributed to an anonymous Australian care home resident.

Last week we revealed the original was penned by Scots nurse Phyllis McCormack in the ’60s and published in The Sunday Post in 1973.

It sparked huge interest at the time and we later published another verse called A Nurse’s Reply.

Both were printed on cards and given to readers. Many thousands were given away over the years.

Another reader revealed a DVD version of Look Closer had been made by actress Amanda Waring, with Virginian McKenna voicing the old woman.

Listen to A Nurse’s Reply, recited by The Sunday Post content editor Dawn Donaghey.

A Nurse’s Reply

What do we see, you ask, what do we see?

Yes we are thinking when looking at thee!

We may seem hard when we hurry and fuss,

14

But there’s many of you and too few of us.

We would like far more time to sit by you and talk,

To bathe you and feed you and help you to walk,

To hear of your lives and the things you have done;

Your childhood, your husband, your daughter, your son.

But time is against us, there’s too much to do —

Patients too many and nurses too few.

We grieve when we see you so sad and alone,

With nobody near you, no friends of your own.

We feel all your pain, and know of your fear,

That nobody cares now your end is so near.

But nurses are people with feelings as well,

And when we’re together you’ll often hear tell,

Of the dearest old gran in the very end bed,

And the lovely old dad and the things that he said.

We speak with compassion and love, and feel sad,

When we think of your lives and the joy that you’ve had.

When the time has arrived for you to depart,

You leave behind an ache in our heart.

When you sleep the long sleep, no more worry or care.

There are other old people, and we must be there.

So please understand if we hurry and fuss —

There are many of you, and too few of us.