New York, capitale dadaïste

Je regarde Central Park, et je me souviens que dans une petite ville du nord de la Roumanie, il y a cinquante ans, un grand homme aux cheveux blancs déclamait ce poème : “Les couleurs rouge et noir.”  Alors que je contemple le parc, me reviennent ces vers de l'époque stalinienne :

                                    À New York, tout est beau.

                                    Les héros viennent, les héros s'en vont.

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