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| Jan Senbergs Collapsing Structure 1968 screenprint Art Gallery of New South Wales, Sydney |
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| Gareth Sansom The Great Democracy 1968 oil, enamel, acrylic and collage on board National Gallery of Australia, Canberra |
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| Juan Antonio Roda Christ no. 2 1968 oil on canvas Blanton Museum of Art, Austin, Texas |
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| Carson-Morris Studios (San Francisco) Northern California Folk-Rock Festival 1968 lithograph (poster) Art Gallery of Ontario, Toronto |
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| Anonymous French Artist Pouvoir Populaire, Oui 1968 screenprint (poster) National Gallery of Australia, Canberra |
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| Diane Arbus Untitled 1968 gelatin silver print Dallas Museum of Art |
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| Lee Krasner Pollination 1968 oil on canvas Dallas Museum of Art |
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| Louisa Matthiasdottir Icelandic Picnic 1968 oil on canvas Portland Museum of Art, Maine |
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| Eric Metcalfe The Departure 1968 gouache on paper Art Gallery of Greater Victoria, British Columbia |
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| Col Jordan Daedalus 1968 acrylic on canvas National Gallery of Australia, Canberra |
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| Janet Dawson Four Designs for Laminex Tables 1968 gouache on paper National Gallery of Australia, Canberra |
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| Mel Katz Untitled 1968 oil on panel Tacoma Art Museum, Washington State |
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| Fernand Leduc Érosion Orangé Bleu 1968 oil on canvas Musée National des Beaux-Arts du Québec |
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| Guido Molinari Bi-Sérial Bleu-Orange 1968 acrylic on canvas Beaverbrook Art Gallery, Fredericton, New Brunswick |
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| Yoko Ono Bottoms Wallpaper 1968 lithograph Walker Art Center, Minneapolis |
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| Geoffrey Beene Evening Gown 1968 silk chiffon, sequins, ostrich feathers Phoenix Art Museum, Arizona |
In Memory of Ernst Toller
The shining neutral summer has no voice
To judge America, or ask how a man dies;
And the friends who are sad and the enemies who rejoice
Are chased by their shadows lightly away from the grave
Of one who was egotistical and brave,
Lest they should learn without suffering how to forgive.
What was it, Ernst, that your shadow unwittingly said?
Did the small child see something horrid in the woodshed
Did the small child see something horrid in the woodshed
Long ago? Or had the Europe which took refuge in your head
Already been too injured to get well?
For just how long, like the swallows in that other cell,
Had the bright little longings been flying in to tell
About the big and friendly death outside.
Where people do not occupy or hide;
No towns like Munich; no need to write?
Dear Ernst, lie shadowless at last among
The other war-horses who existed till they'd done
Something that was an example to the young.
We are lived by powers we pretend to understand:
They arrange our loves; it is they who direct at the end
The enemy bullet, the sickness, or even our hand.
It is their to-morrow hangs over the earth of the living
And all that we wish for our friends: but existence is believing
We know for whom we mourn, and who is grieving.
– W.H. Auden (1939)