Brazilian Modernism did literature a great service by proving once and for all how dull, uninteresting and tedious the futile is, and how impossible it is to change it, even for creative minds. It is ordinary poetry, intended for ordinary people, but poetry that does not uplift them, stimulate them or make them think. False intellectuals, it is true, find infinite innovations in it and are delighted—but they end up, at the end of as many verses as they can read, exactly as they were before reading them. As for those who are accustomed to great art, it is impossible for them to endure more than a few pages of these frivolities that only distract from the one blatant truth: the mind that conceived them had nothing interesting to say.