Unlike most of the rest of humanity, I'm not that keen on Marc Chagall's work. But a nice little coincidence occurred after I saw this painting in the IAM: A few hours after we left the museum, we arrived in Zionsville to have dinner. I saw a small independent bookshop on the quaint old high street, and popped in to make a small purchase, as I almost always do in such situations in order to support real bookshops. The first book that I pulled off the shelf was a 1968 edition of A Coney Island of the Mind: Poems by Lawrence Ferlinghetti . I opened it up to see if it was worth buying, and the first poem I saw was this: Don't let that horse eat that violin cried Chagall's mother But he kept right on painting It goes on in similar fashion. Not a great poem by any means, but as we say in England: What are the chances of that happening, eh? So of course I boug
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