Vane Women: My Art belongs to Dada

Dada is mad and dangerous to know but not bad. Just jump straight in. Dada is randomness in writing and strange rules. These are some Dada exercises we tried.


	The task was to choose a colour and write about it, but the name of the colour has to be included in every line. BETTY BLUE She can be cool, ice-blue cool, in her blue jeans she dances to the rhythm of the blues nothing but blue skies from now on. But she's blue, got the blues in a blue fit, a blue funk she's off in some wide blue yonder unreal in a blue, blue heaven, she's ripped the blue jeans and the blue gown, lost in the blue. Dorothy Long GROWING GREEN I'm green gush-guts as green as grinning in a green-toothed camel. I'm glow green, greedy green, sweet celery-crunchy green, the gangrene in a green-stick fracture. I'm spewing out green, drowning in dappled green, green as dragon breath, as poison-green as a tree frog or the apple in the green witch-basket. Sitting on a death-green yew in a grey-green churchyard. I'm abracadabra cabinet green, glowing in green runes, phosphorescent green of mossy gutters, a green gargoyle watching green-faced from above. So green-eyed from mildewed mirrors, so green-haired from sap rising. Such green fingers from gardening. I'm as green as I'm cabbage looking. Greengage-green, lime-leaf green, acid-green. Green as a bottle in a stagnant pool. As a green crème de menthe or a monster's drool. My future is green. Evergreen. Green! Green! Green! Diane Cockburn THE NIGHT BEFORE THE MORNING AFTER Dawn brings red-faced recollection and hot self-reproach at defences lowered. Remorsefully remembering regrettable utterings that evening before when.... Red had been Burgundy, bursting with berries and burgeoning buds, buoying the senses and battering the brain, and then.... Red became Claret, classically rich, chock-full of chocolate, coconut and coal, caressing the tonsils and canoodling with the soul, until.... Ruby red Rioja ransacked the tastebuds, redolent with rhubarb and Ribena aftertaste, running riot in Reeboks across every nerve ending, until eventually.... Red washed the palate with Valpolicella, virulent with vanilla and vines of Castilla, vibrantly, vivaciously invading the veins!! Now, however.... Bloodshot red eyes, sandpaper-wrapped, close with shame and exhaustion, resolving never, ever, ever............again? Lindsay Balderson BLANK PAGE SYNDROME This page, unscripted, blue as a cloudless sky will not deliver its secrets until gentled by a pencil. This page blue with depth of intent a mystery of particles interdependent. This blue page waiting for thoughts to be scribed with clear and incisive ideas to delight. This page gradually greyed over blue these pencil marks its fearfulness subdue. This blue page, I have covered you with mindless words to tame you. Anne Hine


	Translating from an unknown language by guesswork only. KONT TIFEL SEKLU ILU Ghax jien kont diga' tifel seklu ilu w ghaddejt mill-moghdejiet fejn rigli hafi ghallimni l-forom strambi ta' kull gebla u dahhal go subghajja l-ghabra antika. Fejn kont biex dak in-nhar li terraqt jiena ma rfistx int mieghi hafja fuq il-gebel u fuq it-trab li llum ghadu jaghrafni? Fejn kont meta daqqejt in-noti mkarkra u ktibt imnebbah biex nghannih quddiemek l-innu superstizzjuz ta' l-ezistenza? Kont tifel seklu ilu nhares wahdi lejn l-ucuh godda, u lkoll hallewni nhazzez, bil-fahma hoxna li sewditli idi, is-snug u c-crieki tieghi fuq haddejhom biex malli tasal inti tifhem kollox. Fejn kont meta hazzizt bil-fahma hoxna u ridtek hdejja biex inpingi wiccek, warda li bdiet tihmar minn seklu ilu? Oliver Friggieri I COULD BLESS THIS SECLUDED ISLAND I could bless this treasure of great worth, this secluded island which very properly wishes to keep the given rules right from the edge of the square as far as the War Memorial and then in under the deep shade of the ancient market. I wish I could stand there on its yellow earth again, but who would take the risk that it was safe and not a trap laid for them by very fierce hunters? I wish I could arm myself with innocence against bandits - and twice now I've kept my nose out of serious trouble, or is it superstition that's kept me alive? I could bless this secluded island by the pillar that marks where the local gods live, and in that holy place they wash their feet for their appointed feasts: how close and crackling-tight they're jammed twice as many as can comfortably collect in the room. I wish I could wash my feet there with the saints - and would it be ridiculous to go on pilgrimage again next week for the sake of keeping my secluded island safe? After (a long way after) the Maltese of Oliver Friggieri Joanna Boulter THE GADGETS YOU HAVE LEFT ME So easily you know me, find me sickly, ill with worry, the gadgets you have left me milling mockingly around, a forum for argument, for gabbling strife. You always dare go down that old route. Fain I would know are you here in armour to grab me, interrogate me, pin me to the wall and break my arm, or are you willing to trade darkness with light, salvation with degradation? Fain would I know if you would meet me in the market-place, daggers at dawn, or keep that myth alive that we are one, we, in our hearts, keep the superstition of a star-poem? You know so well (nowhere so well as here) how you would challenge my goddess, taunt so hauntingly and cruelly, even to music, all the famous hoaxes and cons, all the sordid ideas, done-to-death, as if connecting or screaming from the heart! A visual and linguistic response to a Maltese poem by Oliver Friggieri Vicki Thomas ESTRÊLA DA MANHÃ Eu quero a estrêla da manhã Onde está estrêla da manhã? Meus amigos meus inimigos Procurem a estrêla da manhã Ela desapareceu ia nua Desapareceu com quem? Procurem por tôda parte Digam que sou um homem sem orgulho Um homem que aceita tudo Que me importa? Eu quero a estrêla da manhã Três dias e três noites Fui assassino e suicida Ladrão, pulha, falsário Virgem mal-sexuada Atribuladora dos aflitos Girafa de duas cabeças Pecai por todos pecai com todos Pecai com os malandros Pecai com os sargentos Pecai com os fuzileiros navais Pecai de tôdas as maneiras Com os gregos e com os troianos Com o padre e com o sacristão Com o leproso de Pouso Alto Depois comigo Te esperarei com mafuás novenas cavalhadas comerei terra e direi coisas de uma ternura tão simples Que tu desfalecerás Procurem por tôda parte Pura ou degradada até a última baixeza Eu quero a estrêla da manhã. From the Brazilian Portuguese of Manuel Bandeira MORNING STAR I want the morning star Where did she go? My friends, my enemies Look for the morning star Stark naked she has disappeared With whom did she go away? Look for her everywhere Tell her that I am a man without pride A man who accepts anything What do I care I want the morning star Three days and three nights I was a murderer, a suicide Thief, scoundrel, forger Ill-sexed virgin Distresser of the afflicted Two-headed giraffe Sin for all sin with all Sin with the con men Sin with the sergeants Sin with the marines Sin in every way With Greeks and with Trojans With the priest and the sacristan With the leper from Pouso Alto Then with me I shall be waiting for you with carnivals, novenas old-time jousts I shall eat dirt and shall say things of such a simple tenderness That you'll swoon Look for her everywhere Pure or debased to the lowest ignominy I want the morning star Translated by A.B.M.Cadaxa STAR MAN I might as well ask for a man from the stars Where's there a star who's a man? My friend my inimitable boy Procure me a star of a man Alas she is in despair but have you never Been in despair like this? Procure for my spirits a part of him I don't give a sous for um a man who handles his love organ But ah a man who attends to her pudenda Do you get my meaning? I really am asking for an extra-terrestrial man Three days and three nights Since I was assassinated by him and suicidal Jack the Lad, puller, betrayer A woman so unlucky in love I bring down on him twin afflictions Stretch his knackers like giraffe-necks I have sinned for a drink I have sinned with drunks I've peccadilloed with bad lads I've tinkered with sergeants Fossicked with fusiliers, navvies I've copped off on the job with manual workers With Greeks and with Trojans With the priest and with the choirboy With the leper from Chicken Alley I have mixed them all up like peas My hope for you with your broadsword my newest cavalier circle the earth and direct the chosen one to my womb a consummation devoutly simple That you will commit to my crusade Procure him for my soul even a particle An innocent undefiled, edible, the ultimate sixpack So hard I am longing for a man who is out of this world A version after "Estrêla Da Manhã" by Manuel Bandeira Annie Wright


	New work written in response to the LAST words on each line of a famous poem. XXXI Durham Bus Station Friday night uncages here, a waste land of untithed charity shops, coal-fouled stone, gum-pebbled streets dumped on like once gold sand under 14 ft of tipped slag, a frown on the coastline under a chain of command of unending buckets past signs unread of pollution & global warming, things masters and miners left to fish, fed more like a fire, with damp slack, to appear banked, and when it was all axed like a king's head, sea, fish, sand, delivered from despair, the blight bled from mines to towns, decay all that's left of industry, the once bare Bus-stands a sea scum of fags unswept away. Last words from each line of Shelley's Ozymandias S.J. Litherland CLEAN OUT I decided to wipe out my lover the day he stood by the oven humming and twiddling the knobs of the old radio near the stove I thought, you're much too small minded, a saltspoon among spoons I'd let him get under my skin so he used me like a dishcloth each day another frown, another crease showed on my face - this is no life Today will be his end, and it will be sticky I will mop up his blood thinking only of me Last words taken from Grease by Grace Nichols Wendy Iliff FORSAKEN WIFE Why is it at fifty you humiliate and FORSAKE HER To go playing the field acre by ACRE The net result - Swollen fees for the divorce MAKER. She's created your home entertained business GUESTS IN Provided a haven from labours for you to REST IN Borne your children, reared, given them a place to NEST IN. How could you forget the arms stretched to FOLD YOU The love and commitment all meant to HOLD YOU Lost in a night to a floozy who ROLLED YOU. Your waist, also, has started to THICKEN Your breathlessness, too has started to QUICKEN Soon your health and your wits will inevitably SICKEN. The jealousy roused creates thoughts of SLAUGHTERS All respect and your promises thrown to the WATERS Despair in seeing you cavorting in alien QUARTERS. No more joy at your own Christmas TABLES Gone the dogs in the house, horses once in the STABLES Money spent, whilst SHE'S internetting on CABLES. All this betrayal has been hard to SWALLOW Left your wife with no life, meaningless, HOLLOW With a wish that if free, your style she could FOLLOW. May you be dammed that you have chosen to FORSAKE HER Left your children, your house and HOME-ACRE Curses on you, may you fall under the grey WIDOW-maker May you meet on the morrow the grey WIDOW-MAKER Last words from each line of Kipling's Harp Song of the Dane Women Irene Stacey PROMOTED TO GLORY It wasn't the weather that made me miss your funeral today. The weather for October is temperate. It wasn't that I didn't love you Auntie May, it's just that I had a bit of trouble with the date. Thinking of you, my happy childhood shines bright, safe, strong, secure, undimmed like you, so when physically you declined, your wick and spirit stayed untrimmed. As 50s photographs and memories fade, I'm sure I won't forget what most I owest; You furnished me with clothes of every shade from Marks and Spencer rejects, as I growest. We didn't have much money. So you see, I might have remained naked, save for thee. Written using the end words (slightly adapted) of William Shakespeare's sonnet. This is for Emma May Blanche Turner (known to her family as 'Tina') - always known as 'Auntie May' to me. She was married to my Uncle Fred (Crowhurst). They were Salvation Army Officers. As part of that work, she received reject clothes from Marks and Spencer to distribute to 'the deserving poor'. As a Salvation Army Officer's child, I came into this category. Thanks Auntie. Salvationists don't die, they are promoted to glory. Auntie May was promoted to glory on the 29th of September 1999. Marilyn Longstaff TRAFFIC CHOKED CITY Skyscraped, office blocked, traffic choked city; In house, free house, lager flavoured breath, Double lined, meter fed roads up country; Snorted, spliffed, injected with death. Shot up, punched up, on a hard shoulder, Good crack, bad crack mixed up with chalk; Bed down, chill out, no sleep is murder Look out, come round - talk. Speed sirens panic frantic fever, monitored heart, around you came. Re-hab a third time. Is this now over 'cos I've had enough of you calling my name? Give it up this time and I will soften. I love you she whispered caressing his brow; If you don't do it - will I see you in heaven? The traffic choked city is beginning to flow. Last words from each line of Dylan Thomas' The Hand that Signed the Paper Pat Maycroft

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Last updated on 18 July 2006.