SHORT DADA WRITINGS
by TRISTAN TZARA, RICHARD HULSENBECK, PAUL DERMEE, CLUB DADA, HANS ARP, WALTER SERNER, GEORGES RIBEMONTDESSAIGNES, VINCENTE HUIDOBRO, WALTER MEHRING and BENJAMIN PERET
JUST SOME WRITINGS AND POEMS COLLECTED BY RICHARD FOR ANYONE WHO IS LOOKING FOR MATERIAL TO PERFORM
1 DADAIST DISGUST
Every product of disgust that is capable of becoming a negation of the family is: DADA; protest with the fists of one's whole being in destructive action: DADA; acquaintance with all the means hitherto rejected by the sexual prudishness of easy compromise and good manners: DADA; abolition of logic, dance of those who are incapable of creation: DADA; every hierarchy and social equation established for values by our valets: DADA; every object, all objects, feelings and obscurities, every apparition and the precise shock of parallel lines, are means for the battle of: DADA; the abolition of memory: DADA; the abolition of archaeology: DADA; the abolition of prophets: DADA; the abolition of the future: DADA;
2 the absolute and indisputable belief in every god that is an immediate product of spontaneity: DADA; the elegant and unprejudiced leap from one harmony to another sphere; the trajectory of a word, a cry, thrown into the air like an acoustic disc; to respect all individualities in their folly of the moment, whether serious, fearful, timid, ardent, vigorous, decided or enthusiastic; to strip one's church of every useless and unwieldy accessory; to spew out like a luminous cascade any offensive or loving thought, or to cherish it with the lively satisfaction that it's all precisely the same thing with the same intensity in the bush, which is free of insects for the blueblooded, and gilded with the bodies of archangels; with one's soul.
Liberty: DADA DADA DADA; the road of contorted pains, the interweaving of contraries and of all contradictions, freaks and irrelevancies: LIFE.
TRISTAN TZARA
3 SOUND AND FURY
The lofty Dadaist in his Sunday suit Is playing once more upon the flute The cricket chirps by the riverside And moon asks night to be its bride, Trumpetytee.
O, the soul is as dry as dust, and the mind is quite nonplussed, Gruesome birds are flitting about In the sky, where the clouds hang out, Trumpetytee.
Yes, I'm playing an adagio for a wife who's now quite dead, Call it melancholy, call it bunk,O Man, you're wrong as long as you eat bread, Trumpetytee.
She floats off to the spirit parnassia, Then up to the dawn she climbs And ends up stuck to a glacier Like one of old Goethe's rhymes Trumpetytee.
Dadaistic is this ditty, Which I sing to you with gusto, May it rise up slowly like a pretty Fly upon two tiny wingso. Trumpetytee. Think of Tzara, think of Arp, And think of the great Huelsenbeck!
ALEXANDER SESQui (Richard Hulsenbeck)
4 OCTOBER 12
A cold snake reins of steel Hang from your trembling arm Shake your branches o poplar The leaves depart and the birds Skeleton ...
Your smile becomes fixed lips anxious A cloak about your shoulders a letter It is a gallop among the firs Does your heart beat rapidly my hands are moist
Pale regard from high in the sky See my tender breast my crumpled tulips I have filled my mouth with honey
Golden spurs wellshod horse In the autumn winds the leaf trembles HISS hiss steel snake I have a hatred of metal and I admire it Faithful emissary of the canon You carry death in the vibrating air You make as stiff and crumpled as beams those who like under your foul kiss winged viper of ardent flight
I shiver the rain falls O Mother of seven sufferings Here is my heart Still streaming with the world's pity
5 A tree dies in the forest ... Deliverance Arise then in this rainy twilight PRIDE LOVE Unappeasable flames A tower rises in your life AHOY The weeping chevron glimmers Here the oblivion of days numb with cold A bright fire in the chimney THE SNAKES BEAT AGAINST THE WINDOW PANE
PAUL DERMEE
6 A DECLARATION FROM CLUB DADA
Dada is the chaos from which a thousand regulations are made, which in turn entangle to form the chaos of Dada.
Dada is simultaneously the course and the content of world history in its entirety.
Club Dada invites the foremost representatives of the peak of the German intelligentsia to argue over the following Dada tenets:
People are angels and live in heaven.
They and all the bodies which surround them are cosmic accumulations of the greatest magnitude.
Their chemical and physical changes are magical processes which are greater and more mysterious than every creation and every extinction of a planet in the realms of the socalled stars.
Every expression and perception of the soul or mind is more miraculous than the most incredible event described in the tales of the Thousand and One Nights.
Everything that people and all other bodies do and do not do is a diversion for heavenly amusement, a game of highest order which is seen and experienced in as many different ways as there are units of consciousness to behold them.
Not only is a person a unit of consciousness, but also all the orders of universal form of which he consists, and in whose midst he dwells as an angel.
Death is a fairy tale for children and belief in God was a rule of the game of human consciousness during that period in which man was unaware that earth is a part of heaven, like everything else.
7 Universal consciousness has no need of God.
Club Dada urgently requests everyone's opinions on these tenets and will set them before the public in the fifth issue of its review.
CLUB DADA
8 THE SWALLOW'S TESTICLE
1. oh no our good old kaspar is dead who will now wear the burning flag in his pigtail who will turn the coffee grinder who will bait the idyllic doe he confused the boats at sea with that little word parapluie and he named the winds beemaster oh no oh no oh no our good kaspar is dead hell's bells kaspar is dead the crayfish clatter in the chimes when one says his first name and so I keep sighing kaspar kaspar kaspar why have you become a star or a chain of water on a hot whirlwind or an udder of black light or a transparent brick on the groaning drum of the craggy being now our tops and toes are drying up and the fairies lie halfcharred at the stake
2. now the black skittle alley rumbles behind the sun and no one winds the compasses or the wheels of the barrows any more who will eat now with the rat at the secluded table
9 who will chase off the devil when he wants to lure the horses who will explain to us the monograms in the stars his bust will adorn the mantelpieces of all truly noble people but that is no consolation and snuff for a death's head
3. the cascadeuses waved their little flags on the water turrets as shown in figure 5 the adventurers with their false bears and diamantine hooves mounted the rostrum snowingly with the help of inflated whale skins the great spiritlion harun alraschid viz harpoon a radish yawned thrice and revealed teeth blackened by tobacco the mercerised rattlesnakes uncoiled from their spools mowed their corn and locked it away in stones the eyes of the young stars stepped forth from the seam of death the donkey's hooves danced on bottlenecks after being scourged on the sun's cheek the dead fell like flakes from the leather towers how many skeletons turned the wheels of the gates once the waterfall had crowed thrice its wallpaper faded to the marrow and the sailorstencil shattered the cupboards rose from the depths and spread out their anchors
10 at last the ocean risked the impotency of the bitter compasses the glittering angels swing on their hinges the glassy owls handed round death from beak to beak the birds hung their glass tails like waterfalls from out of the rocks the farmwives wore burntout taxidermied suns in their hair only the farmwives were allowed to plant wax dolls but only in their craws only in their nictating membranes only in their dear little town jerusalem
4. the noblewoman ceremoniously pumps clouds into sacks of leather and stone giant cranes hoist warbling larks silently into the sky the sandtowers are stuffed full with cotton wool dolls ammonites discuses and millstones get jammed in the sluices the boats are called hansel and gretel and steam along unsuspecting the dragon bears the inscription cunigundula and is lead on a leash the towns have had their feet sawn off the church spires filled solely with legroom have been placed in the cellars thus we are also not obliged to clean the claws, horns and weathervanes
11 5. although the moon hangs before me like a mirror the angel gives me a pain in the eye the seeds sprout on the tables and if you give a rap on the plants their flowers leap forth the lions perish before their sentry boxes with watering cans full of diamonds between their claws the leaders wear aprons of wood the birds wear shoes of wood the birds are full of echoes the eggs roll incessantly from their little hearts their crown bears the heavenly mast their soles stand on striding flames burst the snowchain, the call to the dear lord if the celestial wheel sinks their hooves will step on black grains in january graphite snows into the goatskin in february the bouquet of chalkwhite light and white stars reveals itself in march the exterminating angel ruts and the stars sway in their rings and the porticoblossoms rattle in their chains and the princesses sing inside their mistpots Who's that hurrying after the morning winds on little fingers and wings
HANS ARP
12 THE ELEPHANT STYLE VERSUS THE BIDET STYLE
Rational architecture was repressed aesthetics.
Shattered, the porcelain bidets, the glass tables, the nickel chairs cover the rude floor of reality. the fog that is man refuses to be put in a corner. Reason, that ugly wart, has fallen off man.
Logical nonsense has once again had to yield to illogical nonsense.
On the ruins of rational architecture, elephantstyle architecture rises, peacockstyle, bellstyle, eggstyle, et cetera.
The last architects are sitting on pedestals with mummy faces.
Vigorous ornamentalists benevolently feed the pills of nourishing, fortifying, and irrational art.
The detectives of the ornamentalists conscientiously survey the world, rigidly making sure that even the tiniest spot does not remain unpainted or unsculpted.
Even shoes soles have to be painted or sculpted.
Logical nonsense has once again had to yield to illogical nonsense.
Lightning and thunder are transformed into loud and luminous epigraphs.
The winds are colored and follow artificial and decorative currents.
The longtrunked towers with lobworm clouds on their heads stroll about on their clawed paws.
13 The bronze houses without windows or doors but with shutters ring so loud that the obelisks have babies.
Grassgreenhorns drift across the sky. Horns hang from long tufts.
The immense marble breasts make their entrances through the arches of triumph, go up on the roller coasters, and vanish in the labyrinths.
The shape of the continents are changed into floral shapes. Europe is shaped like a lily.
JEAN (HANS) ARP
14 MANIFESTO OF THE DADA CROCODARIUM
The statue lamps come from the bottom of the sea and shout long live DADA to greet the passing ocean liners and the presidents dada a dada the dada the dadas I dada you dada he dadas and three rabbits in india ink by arp dadaist in porcelain of striped bicycle we will leave for london in the royal aquarium ask in any pharmacy for the dadaists of rasputin the tzar and the pope who are valid only for two thirty.
JEAN (HANS) ARP
15 THE HYPERBOLE OF THE CROCODILE COIFFEUR AND THE WALKING STICK st. elmo’s fire races round the beards of the anabaptists they pull their davy lamps from out of their warts and stick their backsides in puddles he sang a naildumpling on packice and whistled for her so sweetly round the corner the slattern that a castinggrate skidded 4 eugenes on tour Scandinavia millovich blue crate is a smash hit the tardiest siskin Wellingtons the gruelpole of a butterbag in pewter plumage between the haircream of the sewerman hairraising journey on the steep cliff the mother emits a squawk and falls down, perfectly, dead as father’s tomahawk sinks into her head the children dance a round, off into the sunset, the father stands, head bowed, on the gun boat’s prow staggeringdumb jackamandrills somersault on marmalade belts off into the teaset viennese rear customs office vowels full of grizzliness the circushating keel would hang the profile in the international canals sacramentalmarshals quartetmephistopheles scanningscandals
LIMITED COMPANY FOR THE EXPLOITATION OF DADIST VOCABULARY (TRISTAN TZARA, WALTER SERNER, HANS ARP)
16 HE PLACED HIS HAT ...
He placed his hat upon the ground and filled it full of earth, And sowed therein a tear with his finger.
A large geranium grows, sprang up. Countless pumpkins ripen among the leaves.
He opened his mouth of goldcrowned teeth, and said: Oowii!!
He shook the branches of the weeping willows which cooled the air.
And through the skin of her womb his pregnant wife Showed their child the crescent of a stillborn moon.
He placed on his head the hat imported from Germany.
The woman aborted Mozart, While in an armoured car.
A harpist went by And amid the sky, doves, Gentle Mexican doves, ate Spanish flies
GEORGES RIBEMONTDESSAIGNES
17 TEMPEST
Stormy night the darkness bites into my head The devils thunder's coachmen are on holiday
Nobody has passed by in the street She has not come Something has fallen in the corner And the pendulum has stopped From time to time a trolley bus Scatters into the sky TOWN the little firebirds
On the mountainside COUNTRYSIDE The flock trembles in the storm. The lame dog which guards them Seeks his own shadow. Come close to me We shall travel far In the African desert The giraffes try to swallow the moon One should not look behind the walls. Curiosity makes the neck grow longer. We seek ourselves But cannot find the path. I repress a memory But it is useless to look me in the eye Around the house The wind booms Perhaps lower down my mother is crying A TIRED CLAP OF THUNDER Has settled on the highest peak
VINCENTE HUIDOBRO
18 simultaneous berlin
In morning gear a selfmade gent! Step aside! The president! The Sally Army Storms the Cafe! A spiritual prole Croaks in crap A girl is waving tartan bows A fella haggles with the pros Gimme that cheque Laund'ring money, I don't care a rap, Come on honey! Whether a scrap, or a neck one two three Gooo take a running jump running jump
The Berolina Carriage on the city switchback “Grrreat Berrleena” Berlin Berlin Ev'ryone can Ev'ryone can Ev'ryone can With Mama Green The people rise up! The flags unfurl! Till morning's light my little girl In the Ufa fillum Hail Kaiser Willum! Reactions flutter from the dome With mustard gas and swastika Monocle versus beaky hooter Off to the pogrom! At the Hippodrome!
19 It's all just shit Lay off your mitts With election scam And coup de main One two three Gooo take a running jump running jump
The Berolina Carriage on the city switchback “Grrreat Berrleena” Berlin Berlin The reds and the greens Berlin draws a dud Berlin draws a dud Berlin draws a dud! If you've never had a win When the market takes a spin If you've never let go Played the gigolo Jews out! Stomachs in! To mass murder with Yohimbin Hail the national class haven From shore to sea and then: amen You'll not give a hoot In a wooden suit! Why the sad song Everything's gone One two three Gooo take a running jump running jump
The Berolina Carriage on the city switchback “Grrreat Berrleena” On the grass outside an inn Cock a snook at old Berlin Out in the open Out in the open Out in the open
First Original Dada Couplet for Richard Huelsenbeck by WALTER MEHRING
20 WHERE ARE YOU
I would speak to you cracked crystal howling like a dog on a night of flailing sheets like a dismasted boat the foam begins to invade where the cat meows because all the rats have left
I would speak to you like a tree uprooted by the storm which so shook the telegraph wires they seem a brush for mountains resembling a tiger's lower jaw which slowly tears me with a hideous noise of a batteredin door
I would speak to you like a metro train broken down at the entrance of a station I enter with a splinter in a toe like a bird in a vineyard which will yield no more wine than a barricaded street where I wander like a wig in a fireplace which hasn't heated anything so long it thinks itself a cafe counter where the circles left by the glasses trace a chain
I would only say to you I love you like the grain of wheat loves the sun rising above its blackbird head
BENJAMIN PERET
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