German street band in nineteenth-century New York
The public heart, that will be fed, but has no art its food to choose,
Grasps what comes readiest, stones for bread, rather than fast, will not refuse.
—Anon., “Florence Nightingale,” Punch 29 (1855): 225.
It comes to that? No more to add?
That I no public heart have had?
That public hearts are always bad
And make up reasons to be sad?
Dismiss the data, big and small—
No cause should make one sad at all!
As Buddha said an age ago,
There's nothing there—just so you know!
The public heart, the public heart
Has always played a phantom part:
It has no art its food to choose—
There’s nothing that it won't refuse!
And nothing more for us to lose.
We, too, want art, to judge the news.
December 10, 2024
Comentarios