Читать книгу Дикий ирис. Аверн. Ночь, всеохватная ночь - Луиза Глик - Страница 69

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.