Below is the poem entitled Art Critic which was written by poet
Beckett. Please feel free to comment on this poem. However, please remember, PoetrySoup is a place of encouragement and growth.
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In our transient ways
We practice genuine displays
That mask common questions,
(Our common ancestor of concern)
They drift above us all
In endless helpings… We’re full.
But how to stop?
So it’s off to the shows,
The museum, the park,
And pretty houses,
Pretty dresses, pretty things…
All the Art,
But where do we start?
Serious in our searches
For the motive behind a creation,
(Something for critics) as if the trivial meanings
May collectively, help us
Solve a little something of our own.