We told the hermit to give it up, join contemporary reality, let those musty papers rot down in the garden, become compost. We told him to abandon this idea of poetry and written expression---go find a solid cave somewhere, a place where he can paint the walls and in another 100 years, some poor fool will find his work spectacular and drag everybody down there to sigh over the brightly painted automobiles, cell phones, and peculiarly drawn vegetables with what appears to be hand-sketched words all along their sides....hand-calligraphed squash, pole beans, and the most bizarre of all, tomatoes that keep their sheen under the network of thinly traced syllables.
Posted on: Sat, 28 Sep 2013 15:18:17 +0000
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