Dadaist poems are artistic expressions of literature, given in a movement called "Dadaism" that emerged at the beginning of the XNUMXth century, thanks to Hugo Ball, one of its precursors, together with Tristan Tzara.
These poems are characterized by the pillars that govern the movement, that is, those elements that characterize it from the expressions of others; among which we find positivism, the "mockery" of the artists of the bourgeoisie, among others. On the other hand, artists also tend to use images that, although it may seem that they do not make sense, in reality, as a whole, they fulfill the objective of expressing what the poet wishes to convey.
The best poems of Dadaism
There are many poets of Dadaism, such as Hugo Ball, Tristan Tzara, André Breton, Jean Arp, Francis Picabia, Louis Aragon, Kurt Schwitters, Philippe Soupault, among others. Those who have written wonderful poems in that time achieve notoriety and even today they are still popular for lovers of the movement; in addition to being the object of study of artistic expressions of antiquity.
1. “The sun” by Hugo Ball
A child's cart moves between my eyelids.
Between my eyelids is a man with a poodle.
A group of trees turns into a bundle of snakes and hisses through the sky.
A stone holds a talk. Trees in green fire. Floating Islands.
Shaking and tinkling of shells and fish heads as at the bottom of the sea.My legs stretch to the horizon. Creaks a float
Far away. My boots tower over the horizon like towers
Of a sinking city. I am the giant Goliath. I digest goat cheese.
I am a mammoth calf. Green grass urchins sniff me.
The grass spreads sabers and bridges and green rainbows across my belly.My ears are giant pink shells, wide open. My body swells
With the noises that were imprisoned inside.
I hear the bleats
Of the immense Pan. I listen to the red music of the sun. He stays up
On the left. Vermilion their tears fall towards the night of the world.
When it descends it crushes the city and the church towers
And all the gardens full of crocuses and hyacinths, and there will be such a sound
to the nonsense that the trumpets of children blast.But there is in the air a gale of purple, yolk of yellow
and bottle green. Swaying, which an orange fist grips in long threads,
and a song of bird necks that frolic through the branches.
A very tender scaffolding of children's flags.Tomorrow the sun will be loaded into a vehicle with huge wheels
And driven to the Caspari art gallery. A black bull's head
With a bulging nape, a flat nose, and a wide gait, he
Sparkling white donkeys, pulling the cart in the construction of the pyramids.
Many countries of blood colors will crowd.
Nannies and wet nurses,
Sick in elevators, a crane on stilts, two dancers from San Vito.
A man with a silk bow tie and a red scent guard.I cannot hold myself: I am full of bliss. Window frames
They burst. Hang a babysitter from a window up to the navel.
Can't help myself: domes are bursting with organ leaks. I want
create a new sun. I want to collide the two with each other
which cymbals and reach my lady's hand. We will fade away
In a purple bunk on the roofs of our single yellow city
like tissue paper screens in the blizzard.
2. “Wild Water” by Tristan Tzara
the hungry teeth of the eye
sooty silk
open to the rain
all year
naked water
darkens the sweat from the forehead of the night
the eye is enclosed in a triangle
the triangle supports another triangleeye at reduced speed
chews fragments of sleep
chews sun teeth teeth laden with sleepthe orderly noise on the periphery of the glow
is an angel
that serves as a lock to the safety of the song
a pipe that is smoked in the smoking compartment
in his flesh the screams seep through his nerves
that lead the rain and its drawings
women wear it as a necklace
and awakens the joy of astronomersEverybody takes it for a set of sea folds
velvety from the heat and insomnia that colors ithis eye only opens to mine
there is no one but me who is afraid when he looks at it
and leaves me in a state of respectful suffering
there where the muscles of his belly and his inflexible legs
are found in an animal puff of saline breath
I modestly dismiss the cloud formations and their goal
unexplored flesh that burnish and soften the subtlest waters.
3. “Towards the night” by Philippe Soupault
It's late
in the shadow and in the wind
a cry rises with the night
I don't wait for anyone
to nobody
not even to a memory
The hour has long passed
but that cry that the wind carries
and push forward
comes from a place that is beyond
above the dream
I don't wait for anyone
but here is the night
crowned by fire
from the eyes of all the dead
silent
And everything that had to disappear
everything lost
you have to find it again
above the dream
towards the night.
4. “Straw Silhouette” by André Breton
Give me some drowning jewels
Two nests
A ponytail and a mannequin head
Forgive me later
I don't have time to breathe
I am a spell
Solar construction has held me here
Now I just have to let myself be killed
Order the table
Quickly the clenched fist above my head that begins to ring
A glass where a yellow eye is ajar
The feeling also opens
But the princesses cling to the pure air
I need pride
And some tasteless drops
To reheat the pot of moldy flowers
At the foot of the stairs
Divine thought in the constellated square of blue sky
The expression of the bathers is the death of the wolf
Take me for a friend
The friend of fires and ferrets
Looks at you deeply
Smooth out your sorrows
My rosewood paddle makes your hair sing
A palpable sound serves the beach
Black from the fury of the cuttlefish
And red for the sign
5. “Of flesh and blood” by Jean Arp
A pendulum of flesh and blood
play the alphabet.
Clouds breathe in drawers.
A ladder goes up a ladder
hand held and carried on the back
to the ladder woman.The space is on notice.
He no longer sleeps like milk.
Swings on the tongue
of a pious memory.
The space is well washed.
The nakedness of a cross
the description of a tear
the description of a drop of blood
in a grotto of flesh and blood.In the noisy plane of our century
a lost string
he starts to tell us
that served to make you dance
pyramids of flesh and blood
on its vertices
like spinning tops.Give me your mountains,
you have more than a thousand.
I will give you in return
wind and wind china.
I will give you mutilated trees
with hands on tiptoe.I'll give you a crown of flesh and blood
and a big hat full of honey.
I will also give you
one of my gardeners
that waters me day and night.
6. “Mystical Carlitos” by Louis Aragon
The elevator always descended until I lost my breath
and the ladder always went up
This lady doesn't understand what is being said
it's fake
I already dreamed of talking to him about love
Oh the clerk
so comical with his mustache and his eyebrows
artificial
Gave a cry when I pulled them
Thats weird
What do I see? That noble foreigner
Lord I am not a light woman
Uh the ugly
Luckily we
we have pigskin suitcases
foolproof
This
Twenty dollars
And it contains a thousand
Always the same system
Nor measure
nor logic
bad topic
7. «Funebrulicular song» - Wieland Herfelde
-
I wanted how much I wanted
There my aunt is sitting
Since Ephraim swallowed the piggy bank
It wanders - ayayay -
Out there and pay no taxes.
Wirt drenched in sweat massages her ass
With application!
Safte vita rati broken sqa momofantieja,
What are you crying, old aunt?
Oelisante is dead! Oelisante is dead!
Heavens, goodness, my crucifixion, sacraments, extreme misery!
He still owed me fifteen and fifty euros
8. "Against the glass the rain hits" by Emmy Hennings
A flower glows red.
Cold air blows against me.
Am I awake or dead?A world is far, far away
A clock strikes four slowly.
And I don't know for how long
I fall into your arms
We hope that these poems of dadaism have been to your liking, since we have compiled some of the best for our readers and new visitors. If you want to leave your opinion or a poem of this movement that we have not placed, you are free to do so through a comment.
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