I was in those same places in the Southwest just last February, looking from the same overlooks, and taking some of the same photos. I don't find it all depressing or impossible to deal with. The very lack of humanity is one of its virtues. It seems that every one in literary circles, those circles which are all so inner-directed, insular, and narcissistic, has willingly forgotten how immense the rest of the world is compared to our petty little human concerns. And then there's the great poet-spokesman for the inhuman, the eternal, the wild, and the pristine: Robinson Jeffers. Very unpopular now precisely because, in part, he rejected humanity as the center and reason of all art.
I was in those same places in the Southwest just last February, looking from the same overlooks, and taking some of the same photos. I don't find it all depressing or impossible to deal with. The very lack of humanity is one of its virtues. It seems that every one in literary circles, those circles which are all so inner-directed, insular, and narcissistic, has willingly forgotten how immense the rest of the world is compared to our petty little human concerns. And then there's the great poet-spokesman for the inhuman, the eternal, the wild, and the pristine: Robinson Jeffers. Very unpopular now precisely because, in part, he rejected humanity as the center and reason of all art.
ReplyDelete