They brought a woman from the street And made her sit in the stalls By threats By bribes By flattery Obliging her to share a little of her life with actors
But I don't understand art
Sit still, they said
But I don't want to see sad things
Sit still, they said
And she listened to everything Understanding some things But not others Laughing rarely, and always without knowing why Sometimes suffering disgust Sometimes thoroughly amazed And in the light again, said
If that's art I think it is hard work It was beyond me So much beyond my actual life
But something troubled her Something gnawed her peace And she came a second time, armoured with friends
Sit still, she said
And again, she listened to everything This time understanding different things This time untroubled that some things Could not be understood Laughing rarely but now without shame Sometimes suffering disgust Sometimes thoroughly amazed And in the light again said
This is art, it is hard work And one friend said, too hard for me And the other said, if you will I will come again Because I found it hard I felt honoured
“…And with these the sense of the world’s concreteness, irreducible,immediate, tangible, of something clear and closer to us: of theworld, no longer as a journey having constantly to be remade, not asa race without end, a challenge having constantly to be met, not asthe one pretext for a despairing acquisitiveness, nor as the illusion ofa conquest, but as the rediscovery of a meaning, the perceiving thatthe earth is a form of writing, a geography, of which we hadforgotten that we ourselves are the authors.”
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