Translator's Note

Dada staked out very nearly the entire territory that has since been occupied by the                          avantgarde: multi-media, abstraction, bricolage, performance and conceptual art, found objects,
use of tribal and popular culture, the cultivation of a privileged “hip” vision. Despite their
seminal influence, though, actual dada works are often known only vaguely at second-hand.
I have found in recent live performances of my translations that dada poetry can still bring
an audience to attention. Even after nearly a century, competing with all the current varieties
of spoken word, the works of Richard Huelsenbeck, Hans Arp , Hugo Ball, Emmy Jennings,
and their colleagues remain scintillating with rebellion and spectacular in the eruption of
unlikely images, but also ambitious far beyond their immediate shock value.
The title of Richard Huelsenbeck’s autobiography Memoirs of a Dada Drummer defines his
role both literally and figuratively. Huelsenbeck was a principal performer in the Cabaret
Voltaire in Zurich. In Germany he participated in the provocations of the extravagant
Oberdada Johannes Baader. Condemning the church and the Weimar regime, they
demanded a brand of “radical communism” that sought “progressive unemployment,”
circuses “for the education of the proletariat,” establishment of a Dadaist sex center, and
“daily meals at public expense for all creative and intellectual men and women.”
Known for his insistence even during the 20s that "Germany must be defeated," he was
to the Nazis a clear example of the “degenerate” artist and an obvious target. After
emigrating to the USA (with the aid of Albert Einstein), he transformed himself into a
Jungian analyst, later practicing “existential psychiatry,” in Manhattan, using the name
Charles R. Hulbeck.
Huelsenbeck’s poems are declamatory in their rhetoric and pyrotechnic in the speed and
flash of their images, but they also have a kind of propulsive passion sometimes lacking in
avant-garde works. The following poems are from his Phantastische Gebete [Fantastic Prayers],
which was published first with the author’s own art in 1916 and reissued in an expanded
version with wonderful drawings by George Grosz in 1920. In his 1959 preface to a new
edition Huelsenbeck describes religion in terms that apply in fact to other symbolic
manipulation such as art and particularly to his “prayers”: “It is the experience of
constructive will in the world which lends wings to the course of the stars despite all the
fallen angels and helps man in the course of his life to understand the archetypal symbols of
his existence.” I believe these poems do no less.
—William Seaton

Mafarka

Ravens circle lemon yellow
deepdark cold shadow-walls
of the shadow-walls has masks’
o o ho oho in legs carved of wood
association and Baudelaire Mafarka blooms
the cherry tree blooms a blue clock-strike
slowly it rises from the dark it falls from the white against him faster it closes and violates
perspective loosens itself posthaste in the vast surfaces teaches to worship cries the yellow
the red o that Indian’s red of the totem cries the death knell for the condemned the
umbrellas call out rose madder slide swim over the fountains sitting and seating and seating
and laughing and seating and laughing the quee-ee-een of porcelain the quee-ee-een the
dragons toss their tongues over the capitals – o – o – o – the capitals are on fire the blue
flames of the capitals strike across the seas so colorful together the seas amid the sound of
flames o – o – the lassos whiz far off to the equator


Death
For Li

Death is greater than a porterhouse
he goes with monster eyes like two clouds of cinnabar
through the land
so that the sun goes down in fainting fear the cop
stands amazed
and the sea cries a great wonder! from his sleep
yes the hearse’s procession with well-nourished corpses
jostles carts
also virgins whose kisses froze on their lips and
countenances
mother’s body in fits god made the measureless
o he sings more powerfully than the priest’s litany
and steam rises and trumpets call
peoples disperse little crybabies o the helpless beg
god god god he ties his coat round his haunches
breath comes in the cities where weeping on beds, brokenhearted,
we have no choice but to wrap our minds about the inconceivable
he’s on our shoulders and necks before we suspect anything
caresses tender cheeks and mouth dog
all-powerful killer revolutionary
we are attention and we are disdain as well
in that we’re made in your image


The End of the World

Indeed things have come to such a pass in this world
that cows sit atop the telegraph poles and play
chess
the cockatoo sings so sad under the Spanish dancer’s
skirts like a trumpeter from HQ
and the cannons complain
the whole day long
it’s the lilac landscape Mr. Mayer spoke of
when he lost his eye
only the firefighting squad can drive the nightmare from the
salon
but their hoses are all cut
yeah yeah Sonya you think the celluloid puppet’s a changeling
and shout, “God save the king!”
All the Monist Club is meeting on the steamer Meyerbeer
the helmsman alone can conceive a high C
I pull an anatomical atlas from my toes
and set to serious study
have you seen that fish who’s loitered by the opera
in a morning coat these last two days and nights?
Oh, oh, you great devil – oh, oh bee-keeper, base commander
wants a wow-wow-wow, wants a woe-woe-woe who doesn’t know
what Daddy Homer wrote
war and peace I hold in my robe but I’ve decided
that mine will be a cherry flip
no one knows today if tomorrow he’ll have been
the rhythm’s beat on the coffin-lid
if someone had only the balls to tear the feather-tail
from the streetcar it is high time
zoology professors gather in the fields of grass
they avert rainbows with upturned palms
the great guru places tomatoes on his brow
you fill again the castle and copse
the roebuck whizzes the horse leaps
(who wouldn’t go crazy at that)


To Ludwig the Flirt

Your leg hangs over me like a crescent moon;
it’s altogether clear: your breasts pant like beasts
under the best Belgian lace
hey, waiter, café au lait and the paper and a glass of water
at bottom you’re like your sisters with the swaying
bellies
who creep along the gutters, ears pricked
for the whistle of morality` and the flesh-eating pimps
the cowboy whose pants you took (with his alligator
wallet)
told me all I need to know about your
soul.
hey you old pig you’re fifty years old,
but the high schoolers dream of you nightly
they dream – you come sneaking with a supple
cane
heating them up behind with what their hearts desire
hey you dirty old men you manipulator of girls you gypsies and
hotel thieves
pray yes pray if you get a kick that way
or swill yourselves smashed till the houses rise their drains
break
let the firefighters thunder driving rivers from their sleep
old bums I approach a bottle under my arm crazy
ghost
and is it you once more oh precious swine has the surgeon
caught sight of your belly grappling iron all ready torch and anaesthesia
dada dada no one lives but you, oh my tender beloved

Four Poems by Richard Huelsenbeck
Translated from the German by WILLIAM SEATON
WILLIAM SEATON'S most recent books are Spoor of Desire: Selected Poems (FootHills Publishing: Kanona) and Tourist Snapshots (CC Marimbo: Berkeley). His translations of German dada and expressionist poets have appeared in such journals as Chelsea, Heaven Bone, and Mad Blood. He produces the Poetry on the Loose Reading/Performance Series in the Hudson Valley of New York.