Strange poetry

[Anonymous No.2266058]

Hey /lit/
I'd like to read some strange poetry - some crazy avant garde shit to broaden my horizons, perhaps surrealism or something with odd syntax. If it was originally in English that would be preferable, but it can be in translation too.

The closest I can think of is Beckett's or Cummings' poems:
>https://www.msu.edu/~sullivan/Beckett4Poems.html
>https://www.msu.edu/~sullivan/BeckettPoem1.html
>pic related

Anything to surprise/challenge/broaden my horizons.
Thanks /lit/

[Anonymous No.2266061]

Oh man OP, this is totally up my alley. I don't have much that's originally English though.

Here's a bit from Inagaki Taruho that I transcribed, an avant-garde Japanese poet:

>http://www.mediafire.com/?rdakb3vxm5zodb7

[Anonymous No.2266064]

Another is Vietzlav Nezval. I found a few of his poems posted online here (along with an article about him):

>http://pippoetry.blogspot.com/2009/04/vitezslav-nezval.html

[Anonymous No.2266083]

>>2266061
>>2266064
Thanks for these. I'm reading some Inagaki Taruho now. Pic is a John Ashbery poem.

[Anonymous No.2266089]

I'd recommend you a couple of such poets. Because futurists really did it strange.
Then again, it's Russian, and reading poems in translation...

[Anonymous No.2266091]

Federico Garica Lorca is sometimes tagged as avant-garde, and is generally at least strange.

>http://www.poets.org/poet.php/prmPID/163

"Gacela of the Dark Death" is one of my favorites.

I want to sleep the sleep of the apples,
I want to get far away from the busyness of the cemeteries.
I want to sleep the sleep of that child
who longed to cut his heart open far out at sea.

I don't want them to tell me again how the corpse keeps all its blood,
how the decaying mouth goes on begging for water.
I'd rather not hear about the torture sessions the grass arranges for
nor about how the moon does all its work before dawn
with its snakelike nose.

I want to sleep for half a second,
a second, a minute, a century,
but I want everyone to know that I am still alive,
that I have a golden manger inside my lips,
that I am the little friend of the west wind,
that I am the elephantine shadow of my own tears.

When it's dawn just throw some sort of cloth over me
because I know dawn will toss fistfuls of ants at me,
and pour a little hard water over my shoes
so that the scorpion claws of the dawn will slip off.

Because I want to sleep the sleep of the apples,
and learn a mournful song that will clean all earth away from me,
because I want to live with that shadowy child
who longed to cut his heart open far out at sea.

[Anonymous No.2266108]

>>2266091
Goodness gracious me, I love it. This is the kind of thing I want.

http://halfcircle.org/J_O_U_R_N_A_L.html
This is a journal of contempoary poetry, which may be of interest to people in this thread.

[Anonymous No.2266109]

>>2266089
I'm not against reading poetry in translation. I'll just appreciate that it's as much the poem of the translator as it is the original poet.

[Anonymous No.2266117]

>>2266058
trastan tzara is for you

[Anonymous No.2266142]

http://max.mmlc.northwestern.edu/~mdenner/Demo/poetpage/khlebnikov.html

[Anonymous No.2266152]

>>2266109
Then you can try and search for Mayakovsky, Khlebnikov, Andrei Bely, Pasternak. Though Bely's poems are more notable for his experiments with sound composition thus in translation this effect is likely to be lost. And the others - well, they are very well-known in Russia and the topics of some of their poems rely too much on 1917 revolution sometimes. Still, 'A Cloud in Trousers' is my favourite.

[Anonymous No.2266155]

The world goes on and on, and when long after this
My fame has died down and my memories are forgotten
We were not missed before we came
After we leave it won't be any different

[Anonymous No.2266159]

Bruce Andrews' I don't have any paper so shut up is a must read for anyone looking for what the OP is talking about.

bad writing example #642164
password#********

[Anonymous No.2266282]

Bumping

[Anonymous No.2266290]

christian bok was kind of a smug sonofabitch when he visited my school but he's doing some neat stuff -- here's a chapter from his book eunoia where each chapter uses only one of the vowels

http://www.arras.net/RNG/flash/eunoia/eunoia_final.html

[Anonymous No.2266443]

>>2266290

Hi, Christian. Tell Natalie I said hi! LULZ. . .

[Anonymous No.2266489]

sound like what OP needs is some Kurt Schwitters

An Anna Blume:

You, oh you, beloved of my twenty-seven senses, I
love ya! - You thine thou yours, I you, you me.
- Us?
This (incidentally) does not belong here.
Who are you, countless woman? You are
- are you? - People say you are - let
them say it, they don't know where the steeple is.
You wear a hat on your feet and stand
on your hands, on your hands you walk.
Hello, your red clothes, sawed into white pleats.
Red I love, Anna Blume, red I love ya! - You
thine thou yours, I you, you me. - Us?
That (incidentally) belongs in the cold embers.
Red flower, red Anna Blume, what are people saying?
Prize question: 1. Anna Blume has a bird.
2. Anna Blume is red.
3. What color is the bird?
Blue is the color of your yellow hair.
Red is the cooing of your green bird.
You plain girl in an everyday dress, you dear
green animal, I love ya! - You thine thou yours, I
you, you me - us?
That (incidentally) belongs in the ember box.
Anna Blume! Anna, a-n-n-a, I am dripping your
name. Your name drips like soft suet.
Do you know, Anna, do you know yet?
You can also be read from back to front, and you, you
most marvelous creature of them all, you are from the back
as you are from the front: »a-n-n-a.«
Suet drips caress my back.
Anna Blume, you droppy animal, I love ya!

[Anonymous No.2266496]

housefire publises experimental prose and poetry. you may like it idk

google housefire publishing

[Anonymous No.2266499]

>>2266489
OP here. You are a man of taste. I studied Kurt Schwitters for A level German and read that poem in a book called Dada: Art and Anti-Art. The translation there is a little different:

O beloved of my twenty-seven senses, I
love your! – you ye you your, I your, you my.
– We?
this belongs (by the way) elsewhere.
Who are you, uncounted female? You are
–are you? People say you are, – let
them say on, they don’t know a hawk from a handsaw.
You wear your hat upon your feet and walk round
on your hands, upon your hands you walk.
Halloo, your red dress, sawn up in white pleats.
Red I love Anna Blume, red I love your! – You
ye you your, I your, you my.– We?
This belongs (by the way) in icy fire.
Red bloom, red Anna Blume, what do people say?
Prize question: 1.) Anna Blume has a bird.
2.) Anna Blume is red.
3.) What colour is the bird?
Blue is the colour of your yellow hair.
Red is the cooing of your green bird.
You simple girl in a simple dress, you dear
green beast, I love your! – you ye you your,
I your, you my.– We?
This belongs (by the way) in the chest of fires.
Anna Blume! Anna, a-n-n-a, I trickle your
name. Your name drips like softest tallow.
Do you know, Anna, do you know already?
You can also be read from behind, and you, you
the loveliest of all, are from behind, as you are from
before: “a-n-n-a”.
Tallow trickles caressingly down my back.
Anna Blume, you trickle beast, I love your!

[Anonymous No.2266526]

I tried my hand at writing a piece of surreal poetry. Do you like the result?

1
she is a dying piece of metal
she

skilled in the twisting halls of althea
pouring out the hertz of brains
that take us to far places

she never thought the places could exist

2
youth is a distant dying
which comes as a relief to her
a few years or nothing

the softened cracker is unconsumed
because she has a choice
desperation is yet to be upon her

she lies awake to say again:
desperation is yet to be upon us

and again:
youth is a distant dying

3
minutes lies she awake to say again:

i never thought this far place could exist

[Anonymous No.2266531]

op is a jewish gay nigger

[Anonymous No.2266532]

>>2266499
I like this translation! I was first introduced to Schwitters' work through a remounted Fringe play called "Merz" about his life and work, the second act of which was a full reading of "Ursonate".

I recently picked up a collection of his writings called "pppppp: poems, performances, pieces, proses, plays poetics" which contains yet another translation entitled "Anna Blume Has Wheels" (I think this one was his own):

O Thou, veloved of my twenty-seven senses,
I love thine!
Thou thee thee thin, I thine, thou mine.–we?
That belongs (by the side) not here!
Who art Thou, uncounted woman?
Thou art–art Thou?–
People say, Thou werst,–
Let them say, they don't know, how the churchtower stands.
You wearest you head on your feet and wanderst on your hands,
On thy hands wanderst Thou.
Hallo thy red dress, clashed in white folds,
Red I love Anna Blossom, red I love Thine!
Thou Thee Thee Thine, I Thine, Thou mine,–we?
That belongs (by the side) in the cold glow.
Red Blossom, red Anna Blossom, how say the people?
Price question:
1. Anna Blossom has wheels.
2. Anna Blossom is red.
3. What colours are the wheels?
Blue is the colour of thy yellow hair.
Red is the whirl of thy green wheels.
Thou simple maiden in everyday-dress,
Thou dear green animal,
I love Thine!
Thou Thee Thee Thine, I Thine, Thou mine–we?
That belongs (by the side) in the glow box.
Anna Blossom,
Anna
A–N–N–A
I trickle your name.
Thy name drops like soft tallow.
Does thou know it, Anna,
Does thou allready know it?
One an also read thee from behind,
And thou, thou most glorious of all,
Thou art form the back, as from the front:
A–N–N–A
Tallow trickles to strike over my back.
Anna Blossom,
thou drippes animal
I
Love
Thine!

[Anonymous No.2266537]

>>2266532
beloved*, thine*

[Anonymous No.2266912]

>>2266489
>>2266499
>>2266532

[Anonymous No.2266945]

wow, I've never read Kurt Schweitters so to thank you for such and so intro to him. I will look into more.

[Anonymous No.2266984]

all of this:
http://english.utah.edu/eclipse/authors.html

[Anonymous No.2266985]

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Language_poets

[Anonymous No.2267002]

>>2266985
read John Dolan's story about his friend who was a language poet

it's some good shit