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| #50 - les Quatre Cent Coups (1959) |
The art evolves, but slowly – glacial pace.
Divergence rattles, comfort is narcotic;
as careful rehashed bankers win the race,
and torpid lies the culture – dull, sclerotic.
I understand, I get it – writing sonnets
is hardly avant-garde
– my aging mind
just bimbles out in verse whatever’s on it:
new innovations might leave me behind.
I still say evolution needs a shove –
no gentle nudge, but something firm and drastic;
not intervention’s calm, supportive love,
but revolutionary, iconoclastic.
So man the barricades, and raise the flag –
a boy, alone, freeze-frame: la nouvelle vague.
AWB
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