|Shot by my granddaughter in Italy this summer near Pompei|
© Addison Old
This is a Dada poem taken from Charles Miller's article on FormForAll June 6, 2013. Since I was missing in action then, it's an opportunity for me to try my hand at it. I took the words from two sources: Nabokov's Letters and Neruda's love poem: A Song of Desire. It was kind of fun to do, although I must admit, like the cento I wrote which was very satisfying, it doesn't much feel like it's really my work somehow. It's more like my edit, but less so here since I'm just picking and choosing words at random. Let me know what you think.
I owe my first smile on earth to imagination.
Creatures enjoy the supreme delight
of becoming aware, talkative,
having a vivdness of mind.
Thinking should be limited.
It flashes with platitudes and obstructs
itself with wisecracks. Highbrows are
usually wrong. They spout nonsense.
"Literature is low, a crazy quilt of bits.
Be ambitious - free the slaves or something."
Draw a shadow on the wall like a jar.
Fill it with oblivion.
Girdle distance like the sea; like song birds,
assault the kiss.
Spell the hour with desire
then like sadness
let it sink,
© Gay Reiser Cannon 7.18.13 * All Rights Reserved