BLUES FOR ROBERT HUGHES

Shock — well, that’s one form of news;
And modernity’s favourite ruse.
Soon enough, Time summoned Robert Hughes
Who kindly shared his critical views,
And many, oh, many, stood accused:
— Artists must pay their dues
— Crappiness does not amuse
— Complaint is obtuse
— Meaning is what art woos

(You and I mean something! Ah that’s a good one, says Samuel Beckett.
It’s only the method you choose, not your personal muse
Sex–mother–goose–father–murder–noose)

He suffered the 20th century blues
The past was his golden hypotenuse —
On the classics nothing much improves.
He was out of time, burning a backward fuse.
But there is only nothing to lose
So he walked his talk in great big shoes
(and aimed to score with the final bucket).
Now we sing these new and necessary blues:
Here lies the beloved, our Robert Hughes.

 

Robert Studley Forrest Hughes (1938-2012)
8 August 2012

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The following lines have been revised as above:
Title: SOONER OR LATER, ROBERT HUGHES
Soon enough, time summoned Robert Hughes
— Complaining is abuse
— Meaning is what art chews

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