Before We Forget How To Be
by Ian Thorpe



  ian thorpe




Poet: Rudyard Kipling
Poem: If

If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you
But make allowance for their doubting too,
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or being lied about, don't deal in lies,
Or being hated, don't give way to hating,
And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise:

If you can dream--and not make dreams your master,
If you can think--and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build 'em up with worn-out tools:

If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it all on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breath a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: "Hold on!"

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with kings--nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you;
If all men count with you, but none too much,
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds' worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,
And--which is more--you'll be a Man, my son!

--Rudyard Kipling

Before We Forget How To Be
by Ian Thorpe



Is the pace of modern life causing us to lose one of our most important skills, the ability to do nothing?

Spring arrived late this year, but summer has been good and the main flowers in the garden are in full bloom; Dianthus, Lavender, Delphiniums, Mombresia, Canterbury Bells, Cistus, Hollyhocks and Asters make a colourful display. The shrubs are in full bloom too; Honeysuckle is past its best but the Buddleia or Butterfly Bush, Hydrangea, Climbing Roses and Mallows are magnificent. Others, autumn bloomers, will come in in turn, adding their late splashes of colour.

Gardeners will probably have noted that I keep a fairly low maintenance plot. Well there’s no sense making hard work of something that can be enjoyed with minimum effort.

One of my favourite pastimes in summer is sitting in the garden watching insects on the various flowers. Honey bees love the Lavender, Butterflies flock round the Buddleia, earlier todat I counted seven different species including Painted Lady, Red Admiral and Peacock Butterflies.

I can sit for a whole afternoon just watching nature happening right in front of me. What a glorious waste of time… Or is it?
As pace of modern life becomes increasingly frenetic, as the constant stream of propaganda from the conspicuous consumption industry becomes more intense, as we are brainwashed with the idea that to sit doing nothing is a sin almost as great as dying, (never mention out loud dying) which is the ultimate failure in a society that aims to be failure free.

But is doing nothing such a bad thing. Do we become slobs, couch potatoes, wasters, the moment we leave off filling “each unforgiving minute with sixty - seconds’ worth of distance run”?

I would say no, doing nothing is one of the most important therapies we can give ourselves.

The result of all this frantic headlong rush at life is we have ended up in a pressure cooker world. What guilt people experience if they are not either working to get richer or involving themselves in some “improving” activity.

Forget all those management-speak meets psychobabble mantras like “time is money,” “live in the now,” “efficient time -management is the key to a successful life,” and “we must always position ourselves to take advantage of our opportunity.” If you don’t have a garden where you can watch insects, if you have a demanding career like the one that finally broke my health (leaving me free to sit in the garden doing nothing) you can still make a little empty time to valuably do nothing.
Watching a river, stream or waterfall is great therapy, just watch the water run. Fountains in the town square are just as good. Watching birds is a fine way of doing nothing slowly too. Walking is wonderful so long as you do not say to yourself  “I have to get from here to there in two hours.”

I feel sure such competitiveness, the constant impulse to prove something to one’s self or the world is behind the pandemic of every kind of stress related illness currently afflicting the western nations. Make your walk easy paced, say “I’ll be back when I get back,” and plan a route that brings you to the starting point. That way there is no need to arrange for anyone to meet you.

Another great therapy, although it does not quite qualify as doing nothing, is baking bread. Mixes of all types are available from the supermarket now so there is really no problem. It isn’t the weighting out  that releases the pressure but the kneading. And then as you wait for the dough to rise you are watching nature happening again. And most important, you are not thinking, not measuring yourself against others, not feeling compelled to try to be number one, or at least progress a few steps up the ladder towards number one. All of which makes it very relaxing.

Whichever way you spend your “do nothing” time the trick is to empty your mind, let all that tension drain out through the soles of your feet.

To go back to that line from Rudyard Kipling's poem “If”; why should we fill each unforgiving minute with sixty seconds worth of distance run. Why can’t we just sit back and wave the unforgiving minute goodbye as it races on its way to do something worthwhile before it is consigned to oblivion. Let it go, its just an upstart. The thing about minutes is that as soon as one goes past, another follows right behind it. Put the little attention seekers in their place.

According to legend we have seventy years to get our lives lived, modern science extends that to an average of over eighty and British scientist Aubrey de Vere is sure we are approaching escape velocity, the point at which life expectancy increases faster than we are living. So why all the rush?

While you are so desperate to do something you are losing the skill of simply being.







Link to “Young River,” a nature poem by Ian Thorpe



Link to Kipling’s “If.”

Ian Thorpe, July 2006
comments to ianrthorpe@yahoo.com





Ian Thorpe: Bio



Ian Thorpe was first published as a writer of satirical articles by a UK regional newspaper over thirty years ago. Not long afterwards he had his first poems anthologised. Around the same time Ian also started to perform verse if folk and jazz clubs around Manchester and Liverpool and throughout the north-west of England, wherever there was somebody fool enough to let him near a microphone in fact. He made a name for himself when he was arrested for painting a line of footprints from the plinth of a statue of Queen Victoria right down the steps into the Ladies toilet in the centre of Manchester.
Marriage and children put a stop to that sort of thing for a few years but Ian started performing again in the late 1970s just at the time when the punk era opened up a new audience. He continued that and also featured as a poet on BBC radio as well as writing for Television, newspapers and magazine until 1984 after which there was then a gap of around fifteen years as career demands pushed writing aside. The career was ended prematurely by a stroke which left Ian disabled and free to take up writing again. His highly successful career in Information Technology had put him in an ideal position to be aware of the opportunities the internet gave to writers and he has been on a crusade to get poets to be more adventurous ever since. Ian is older than he cares to admit and lives in Accrington, Lancashire.

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