Us, Here, Now
i.m. Gustav Metzger, 10/4/1926-1/3/2017
There is no art in it:
the polish of the jackboot,
a boy fleeing into a forest,
a lifetime of indignation.
And there’s no art in
truculent belligerence,
slavish consumerism, or
the externalities of pollution.
Nor, indeed, is there art
in ignorance, ill-gotten gains,
violation of others’ rights or
the obliteration of the past.
Things crack and fall apart
into nothingness, minds
are broken and undone, art
is pain, a weapon, a memory.
Philip Dunkerley
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