Tristan Tzara

(1896 - 1963 / Moineşti / Romania)

Cinema Calendar Of The Abstract Heart - 09 - Poem by Tristan Tzara

the fibres give in to your starry warmth
a lamp is called green and sees
carefully stepping into a season of fever
the wind has swept the rivers' magic
and i've perforated the nerve
by the clear frozen lake
has snapped the sabre
but the dance round terrace tables
shuts in the shock of the marble shudder
new sober

Comments about Cinema Calendar Of The Abstract Heart - 09 by Tristan Tzara

  • Unwritten Soul (9/24/2017 12:16:00 AM)

    The title sounds like one musical soundtrack, clever pick! the poem is a bit intruge me as i wonder what is actually exhibited from this abstract heart, but it sounds like....calling self to sober after a red-blue tragedy. (Report) Reply

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  • Kumarmani Mahakul (9/2/2017 4:30:00 AM)

    Great write. Thanks and congratulations to his soul. (Report) Reply

  • Edward Kofi Louis (9/2/2017 1:47:00 AM)

    Starry warmth! Thanks for sharing this poem with us. (Report) Reply

  • Bernard F. Asuncion (9/2/2017 12:54:00 AM)

    Such a great poem...... (Report) Reply

  • Lantz Pierre (9/2/2017 12:38:00 AM)

    Shortly after the previously unimaginable horrors of World War I and before any widespread popular blossoming of film this short poem virtual trembles with techniques that would later become commonplace in movie-making. The text is not so radically dada here, it has a flow both of ideas and euphonious sound. But the images are clipped and collaged together with an here-to-fore unbeknownst speed and juxtaposition. Cinematic jump-cuts. The very concept of a World War made the global smaller, events faster, a jumble of emotion, reason, chaos and composition. All of these realities are present in this little gem of a poem. There is soft, inviting, alluring mystery hard up-against threat and solid, muscular brutishness. It reflects perfectly an eternal moment in time, fixed but gathering the facts of the past and ushering them forward in the certain-uncertainty of the future. A snapshot of an arrow, or ballistic missile of a sort, caught mid-air after it has left its source and before it has hit its target. Threat and beauty merged. (Report) Reply

  • Susan Williams (11/4/2015 2:12:00 PM)

    Dang, I hate it when he runs out of drugs. He's not nearly as amusing when he takes himself seriously (Report) Reply

  • (3/18/2008 6:32:00 PM)

    unconsciouslly calculating & neurotically brilliant (Report) Reply

  • (1/3/2007 2:07:00 PM)

    fabulastic & swell.

    'God and my toothbrush are Dada, and New Yorkers can be Dada too, if they are not already.' - Tristan Tzara
    (Report) Reply

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Read poems about / on: magic, dance, green, wind, heart, river

Poem Submitted: Thursday, January 1, 2004

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