What we call wildness is a civilization other than our own. The hen-hawk shuns the farmer, but it seeks the friendly shelter and support of the pine. It will not consent to walk in the barn-yard, but it loves to soar above the clouds. It has its own way and is beautiful, when we would fain subject it to our will. So any surpassing work of art is strange and wild to the mass of men, as genius itself. No hawk that soars and steals our poultry is wilder than genius, and none is more persecuted or above persecution. It can never be poet laureate, to say “Pretty Poll” and “Polly want a cracker.”We may not all be geniuses, but there is a genius that resides in all of us. It wants to escape its cage and soar. A little bird just told me so.
COLD AND SOLITUDE
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Freezing weather here after a snowfall. Here again is a winter hokku by
Hashin: No sky, no earth;Only snowCeaselessly falling. And here is Kimio
Eto playin...
3 months ago
2 comments:
That's a wonderful quotation. May I ask where in the journals you found it?
John, it's from Thoreau's Journal: 16-Feb-1859
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