America singing
each singing what belongs to
him or her, none else

I hear America singing, the varied carols I hear,
Those of mechanics, each one singing his as it should be blithe and strong,
The carpenter singing his as he measures his plank or beam,
The mason singing his as he makes ready for work, or leaves off work,
The boatman singing what belongs to him in his boat, the deckhand singing on the steamboat deck,
The shoemaker singing as he sits on his bench, the hatter singing as he stands,
The wood-cutter’s song, the ploughboy’s on his way in the morning, or at noon intermission or at sundown,
The delicious singing of the mother, or of the young wife at work, or of the girl sewing or washing,
Each singing what belongs to him or her and to none else,
The day what belongs to the day — at night the party of young fellows, robust, friendly,
Singing with open mouths their strong melodious songs.

I Hear America Singing by Walt Whitman as published in Leaves of Grass (Garden City, N. Y. : Doubleday, 1919 Edition).

According to Wikipedia, “The book received its strongest praise from Ralph Waldo Emerson, who wrote a flattering five-page letter to Whitman and spoke highly of the book to friends. Emerson called it “the most extraordinary piece of wit and wisdom that America has yet contributed.” Emerson had called for the first truly American poet, saying that aspects of America “are yet unsung. Yet America is a poem in our eyes.”

I like that last part a lot.

Aspects of America “are yet unsung. Yet America is a poem in our eyes.”

And I want to believe that holds through to today.

There are poems yet to be written.

Songs yet to be sung.

Each singing what belongs to him or her and to none else.

I look forward to hearing America singing, the varied carols to hear.

PS: According to Wikipedia this engraving of Mr. Whitman from 1856 was printed in the front piece of the Leave of Grass. Not yet the white haired, bearded old guy that first comes to mind now was he?

cultivate habit
not being particular
about little things

Adapted from the essay, Tripping Over Trivia by Damon Runyon as published in Short Takes, Readers’ Choice of the Best Columns of America’s Favorite Newspaperman, Damon Runyon (Constable, Orange Street London, 1948.)

I am trying to cultivate the habit of not being particular about little things. I suppose that after years of being very particular, indeed, I will find it difficult to shake off some of my old exactions, but I must keep struggling. I have come to the conclusion that I have been wasting an enormous amount of time in being particular.

Take the small matter of boiled eggs. I used to be mighty particular about how long my boiled eggs should be boiled. I made a strong point of specifying that they should be boiled three minutes and a half. I had the idea that I could not even look at eggs boiled less than that time or two seconds beyond. The cooks could not fool me, either, though sometimes I suspected they exerted the most diabolical ingenuity in the effort. I could tell to a clock-tick how long they had boiled eggs the instant they were set before me.

One day I sat down and seriously contemplated the economic phases of the boiled egg situation as applied to me. I considered, through careful calculation, the hours I must have wasted in arguing with waiters that those eggs had not been boiled three and a half minutes, but only two and a half, or maybe four, and in sending them back to the kitchen and then waiting for another boiling.

When my figures showed that on being particular about my boiled eggs alone I had wasted fifteen years, I was appalled. It was then I made up my mind to cease being particular. I immediately made some progress on the boiled eggs. I began calling for them scrambled.

Mr. Runyon may be more well known for his musical Guys and Dolls, often thought to be THE American Musical ( up against Oklahoma and the Music Man).

In Guys and Dolls, the Hero Skye Masterson says:

On the day when I left home to make my way in the world, my Daddy took me to one side. ‘Son,’ my Daddy says to me, ‘I am sorry I am not able to bankroll you to a very large start, but not having the necessary lettuce to get you rolling, instead I’m going to stake you to some very valuable advice.

One of these days in your travels, a guy is going to show you a brand-new deck of cards on which the seal is not yet broken. Then this guy is going to offer to bet you that he can make the jack of spades jump out of this brand-new deck of cards and squirt cider in your ear. But, son, you do not accept this bet, because as sure as you stand there, you’re going to wind up with an ear full of cider.

Friends and neighbors, I woke up Wednesday morning and let me tell you friends, I had an ear full of cider!

Time to start calling for scrambled eggs!