Man Motivated by Poem.

While enjoying a beer with a friend recently, he confided his start-up business idea.  It was based on some clever sounding technology, the weather and Twitter.  The conversation soon turned to the 'social media revolution', of which I have been at least a skeptic, at worst a cynic.  So I railed.  I lambasted the shallowness of trawling the internet for opinions.  I ripped into the emptiness of tweets about trivia.  Yet here I am.


Two separate 'logs' broke the camel's back.  The first and smaller log was my friend's description.  He informed me that one isn't required to follow Charlie Sheen or Lindsay Lohan; one can choose to follow Malcolm Gladwell, for instance, who may be a greater 'social media revolution' skeptic than myself.  Interesting.  Employing the vehicle against itself.  He also informed me there were several other regular tweeters and bloggers whose links were thoughtful and enriching.  Like Andrew Sullivan, TED and the New Yorker.  Essentially, he described it as having the ability to publish your own newspaper.  I began to feel both stupid and inspired.

Of course, the immediate drawback to publishing your own newspaper, for me, is the risk of constantly reinforcing my own views and never challenging my intellectual comfort zones.  See Michelle Bachmann.  But this could be countered by following a breadth of commentators.   I have done this, but I'd be grateful for any recommendations.  I've already found choosing who to invite into my Twitter feed is quite a commitment!

The second 'log' was a poem.  I tried to cite it when chatting to my friend, but whether it was the beer or the decade since I'd last read it, my version was woeful.  Written by my favourite poet, e. e. cummings, here's the text in full.

may my heart always be open to little
birds who are the secrets of living
whatever they sing is better than to know
and if men should not hear them men are old

may my mind stroll about hungry
and fearless and thirsty and supple
and even if it's sunday may i be wrong
for whenever men are right they are not young

and may myself do nothing usefully
and love yourself so more than truly
there's never been quite such a fool who could fail
pulling all the sky over him with one smile

It stills makes me think, 'wow'.  I first read this poem when I was 17.  After a childhood raised in the Bible belt, 'even if it's Sunday may I be wrong' hit me like the proverbial ton of bricks.  In the two+ decades since reading this poem, I still find it's message overwhelming.  'For whenever men are right they are not young'.  Simple.  Beautiful.  It invites us to be open-minded and willing to learn.  So here I am.