Daisies

The following is an excerpt of an email sent from Art to Liza and the group on 17 August 2015.

Okay. I mean wow.

I'm going to postpone response and give you my workflow for all this if it's okay. I'm going to print out, reread, and then type this all up. I think typing it will be a decent way to continue meditating on what you've said (although perhaps in an inappropriately linear, Gutenbergian way). I will include all the cross-outs, etc. Once I've done that--and that may be days from now--I'm going to try wrapping my mind around what you've said in a response.

I'm a little dazed and dazzled right now, so signing off...thanks always for the generosity of spirit! Go back to nature and stuff.

Here's something:

Daisies
by Louise Glück

Go ahead: say what you’re thinking. The garden
is not the real world. Machines
are the real world. Say frankly what any fool
could read in your face: it makes sense
to avoid us, to resist
nostalgia. It is
not modern enough, the sound the wind makes
stirring a meadow of daisies: the mind
cannot shine following it. And the mind
wants to shine, plainly, as
machines shine, and not
grow deep, as, for example, roots. It is very touching,
all the same, to see you cautiously
approaching the meadow’s border in early morning,
when no one could possibly
be watching you. The longer you stand at the edge,
the more nervous you seem. No one wants to hear
impressions of the natural world: you will be
laughed at again; scorn will be piled on you.
As for what you’re actually
hearing this morning: think twice
before you tell anyone what was said in this field
and by whom.