Ode to Technology

“Not my world alone,

but your world and my world,

belonging to all the hands who build.”

- Langston Hughes, “Freedom’s Plow”

“That electronic technology

that chains us today

in the prison of

unemployment lines

what could it do

in the hands

of the people”

- Lew Rosenbaum, “Ode to a Cell Phone”

We are sitting in a classroom

writing poems about technology

& our relationship to it…

reaching for words

to describe our lives

            their limitations & possibilities

striving to capture the feeling

of riding a train through underground tunnels

– the sound of it, that low metallic rush –

& people all around, on our phones,

connected through the World Wide Web

millions of invisible waves

travelling through the air,

bringing music to our earbuds,

images & words to our screens,

joining us in a vast global brain

of 7 billion

(miracle of miracles!)

this planetary network

of warp speed connectivity

from which we almost

never

look up

to actually

see  

each other.

We are trying to describe

the strange loneliness of this,

our age…

but also,

                        the comfort of silence,

the kindness of time spent

in transit, locomoting

from one place to another,

with nothing in particular to do,

& the gentle rocking of the train’s motion,

this soothing place

of being alone

(together, yes)

in a quiet kind of intimacy

that I actually enjoy,

here,

writing the poem,

pencil in hand,

scribing in this ancient system

called a book,

stitched by a friend of mine,

with a cover so soft

it eases my soul into a dream

in which my hand begins to fill these pages

with magical lines & dots & circles

that mean things:     

“human”

“history”

  “time”

            “evolution”

(sometimes

i like to think of myself as a kind of tool

for a greater process

not god, necessarily,

– unless you like to think so, as I do –

but you, & us, & everyone,

our species & our mother,

earth)

these hands build

poems, songs, beats, workshops,

concerts, culture,

sandwiches…

they write, they strum, they type

these words

composed by billions of tiny

invisible hands

firing in my brain,

which wonders, now,

what your hands do,

& your brain?

& whatever the answer,

i say

bless the hands!

& bless the brain!

bless the work that is yours,

your contribution…

isn’t this what makes us human?

not the labor,

but the way we share it?

not our stuff,

but the world we create from it

together?

Listen,

people…

Allen was a copy editor for Sun Times, for 23 years,

until he & 600 others got squeezed out by technology…

Lew was a manager at a branch of Barnes & Noble

fired for not wringing the last drop of sweat

out of his workers

Diana was a teacher

slowly shoved out of her classroom

by ready-made materials

from Pearson & Scholastic,

by  “data analysis” & test prep

so much for her hours of conversations

with students in her Beowulf unit

about real-life heroes

like the Freedom Riders

& Water Protectors

now she must look for new ways

to teach & learn.

but,

       Listen –

who, do you think,

is replaceable

in this story

really?

what

is truly

obsolete?

& what if they

– the millions newly deemed disposable –

themselves replaced

the few who have no vision?

Imagine, friends, for just a moment,

the computers taking over the jobs,

& us taking over the computers…

Friends,

to be honest,

I never wanted

to be shackled to a classroom

having spent so many days & years

abhorring them,

but still I’m here

in a different school every day

talking, listening,

trying to master the art of dialogue

because, you see,

this is my most precious tool

&, I think,

our most invincible

weapon

& this is why I’m writing,

speaking to you,

family,

i want to imagine with you, perhaps,

this very place, the same, but different,

i want all of us to visualize

doing the things we most love:

reading, writing,

telling stories,

dancing, strumming a guitar,

painting, gardening,

walking through a forest with the dog,

biking along the lake,

or hiking dew-wet mountain trails,

swimming in the ocean,

studying stars

or history, or Torah,

teaching our youth how to live, how to learn,

how to break dance,

how to make medicinal blends of tea,

or maybe, simply,

sitting quietly with our grandparents,

sipping coffee, making pancakes,

listening to records, or Spotify playlists,

watching movies, playing soccer in the yard

with our nieces & nephews,

with all our relations

(We are all related… )

Relatives,

here is a corner of my imagination,

take it.

stretch with me

as wide as possible:

let’s flex our collective mind

into a portrait of you & me

doing all of these things

freely, meaning,

without any money

& without coercion

simply because we are

what we are –

can you imagine

            a grocery store where nobody has to stand outside

panhandling for food?

a street where no one has to sleep,

or choose between medicine & lights & heat?

& nobody having to stand in the way

of bulldozers coming to turn up the graves

of their great grandmothers & fathers

& no people killed on the street by police

& yes, let’s say it, no police

do we dare picture it?

Comrades,

close your eyes, if you want –

& imagine waking up in bed

knowing every person in the world

has slept warm & safe last night, & every night,

& every morning eating breakfast

with every single one of the 7 billion,

drinking your coffee knowing

that any human hands growing the coffee beans

have worked the land with dignity,

& possess all the time in the world

to rock their own babies to sleep

try to imagine the taste

of food made without the torture of people,

land, animals, or water,

& maybe even

passing a whole day through

from dawn to dusk

without once worrying,

or working a job,

other than what flows

from our own beating hearts

… a never-ending summer vacation…

an eternal Sabbath…

My people,

what would you give

if you could give anything?

if you were free

to receive & to give

all of nature

the way the river feeds its neighbors,

& the forest shelters the owls?

the way the rain waters the prairies,

& children, freely, play…

oh, the days

we’ll spend in the sun,

& the dreams

we’ll dream by night

which we now

cannot

even
dream!!