Cannon Center Dada

Yesterday in my French class, we talked about the Dadaists and their artistic movement after WWI. According to my professor, they were disenchanted generation of young people. The War wasn't as glorious as they had been promised, and when they got back, no one could understand what they had been through--or even conceive their war in the trenches when machine guns and tanks and gas had barely replaced horse and cannon warfare.

And thus began the Dada movement, with the goal of making nonsense. The world didn't make sense, reality was disconnected from language--therefore disconnect language from any reality, the Dadaists figured. It was a primal scream and a hatred of civilization when what they saw of "civilization" was rotten to the core.

But it's also that disconnect when someone just doesn't understand. When there is a gap that doesn't get crossed. Like I wrote in my notes: that frustration when you're trying to communicate something, and there is something dividing that communication. The other person hasn't had the same experiences as you, or they are too young, or too old, or you are afraid of hurting them my telling everything, or they don't understand the words you are using, or, or...

But that's not why I'm writing about Dada. During my freshman year, I was sitting in the cafeteria with some friends, and one of them brought up talking about it in on of her classes, and the other friend knew what she was talking about. I didn't have any idea what they were talking about, and didn't pay much attention--I was so distracted with my delight in the word. Dada. This delight elicited the beginning of a poem using all the phrases that I thought were lovely that we used in our conversation that night.

So yesterday in class, I was delighted [I think I've overused this word, but it is the only one that fits the way I want it to] when the professor said "dada," and even more so when I found out my Cannon Center version pretty much fits with the description (I think) because it is absolutely nonsense. But it sounds pretty. So maybe it doesn't count.

Cannon Center Dada

I have a strait-laced spoon on a Welch bed of grapes
The cult of Katie Couric and the dreaded Spanish drapes.
Chips on ice and an empty plate for dinner

Count or not, it needs additions, so feel free.