Dada

No, this was not Antonia's first word. (It was Mama!) Plus she calls her Dada "Papa" since he's a frog.

I'm reading the Dada "Manifestos" and Tristan Tzara's poetry. It's a mess. I'm a mess. Here's a little sample... Dada is not supposed to mean anything besides being an attack on all conventions and bourgeois ideals. But like surrealism, it calls for a return to the spontaneity and active simplicity of childhood. I feel like it accomplishes just that. I wonder what my 10-month-old understands out of the jumble of words we throw at her in different languages (there's a whole other blog coming on bilingualism) and I want to thank Tzara for unknowingly bringing me back to the frustrating forgotten time of wide-eyed language learning. Enjoy and don't understand! Tzara said: "We need strong, straightforward works that will forever be misunderstood!"

"Le Dompteur de lions se souvient"

regarde-moi et sois couleur

plus tard

ton rire mange soleil pour lièvres pour caméléons

serre mon corps entre deux lignes larges que la famine soit lumière dors dors vois-tu nous sommes lourds antilope bleue sur glacier oreille dans les pierres belles frontières — entends la pierre

vieux pêcheur froid grand sur lettre nouvelle apprendre les filles en fil de fer et sucre tournent longtemps les flacons sont grands comme les parasols blancs entends roule roule rouge

aux colonies

souvenir senteur de propre pharmacie vielle servante

cheval vert et céréales

corne crie

flûte

bagages ménageries obscures

mords scie veux-tu

horizontale voir