BLUFFING
So that was Russian Art—A blotch of redAnd yellow flames, and towers childishlyDrawn in thick lines, and curved as though the wallsWere falling in. Scores and scores of theseWere crowded in a narrow frame, thick piledThat left us stunned, amazed—we could not guessFrom the queer Russian signs and mumbled wordsWhat we were meant to think the show was for.But going out, we coughed importantlyAnd then we said “Here’s a new tone in Art.”While inwardly we wondered whatthatmeant.
So that was Russian Art—A blotch of redAnd yellow flames, and towers childishlyDrawn in thick lines, and curved as though the wallsWere falling in. Scores and scores of theseWere crowded in a narrow frame, thick piledThat left us stunned, amazed—we could not guessFrom the queer Russian signs and mumbled wordsWhat we were meant to think the show was for.But going out, we coughed importantlyAnd then we said “Here’s a new tone in Art.”While inwardly we wondered whatthatmeant.
So that was Russian Art—A blotch of redAnd yellow flames, and towers childishlyDrawn in thick lines, and curved as though the wallsWere falling in. Scores and scores of theseWere crowded in a narrow frame, thick piledThat left us stunned, amazed—we could not guessFrom the queer Russian signs and mumbled wordsWhat we were meant to think the show was for.
So that was Russian Art—A blotch of red
And yellow flames, and towers childishly
Drawn in thick lines, and curved as though the walls
Were falling in. Scores and scores of these
Were crowded in a narrow frame, thick piled
That left us stunned, amazed—we could not guess
From the queer Russian signs and mumbled words
What we were meant to think the show was for.
But going out, we coughed importantlyAnd then we said “Here’s a new tone in Art.”
But going out, we coughed importantly
And then we said “Here’s a new tone in Art.”
While inwardly we wondered whatthatmeant.
While inwardly we wondered whatthatmeant.