| For poetry makes nothing happen: it survives[i1 the valley of its saying where executivesWould never want to tamper; it flows south... --W. H. Auden. "In Memory of William Butler YeatsI he first year of the war, Picasso and Eve, with whom he was livingthen, Gertrude Stein and myself, were walking down the boulevardRaspail a cold winter evening. There is nothing in flae world colderthan the Raspail on a cold winter evening, we used to call it the retreatfrom Moscow. All of a sudden down the street came sonre big cannon,the first any of us had seen painted, that is camouflaged. Pablo stopped,he was spell-bound. C est nous qui avons fair ga, he said, it is we thathave created that, he said. And he was right, he had. From C6zanneflirough him they had come to flint His foresight was justified. --Gertrude Stein, The Autobiography o[Aliee B. Toklas |
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