WERE I TO WRITE A POEM

Were I to write a poem

(a dada sestina)

If I wanted to write but not rhyme,

I could still write myself a poem.

But if I wanted to strangle its meaning,

I would summon up Tristan Tzara.

I could take his rebellious advice,

and cut out words from a newspaper.

They could come from any old newspaper,

Words like tariffs and Trump don’t rhyme!

And following Tristan’s advice,

Words like Putin would be in my poem.

Shake them all in a bag, said Tzara,

Because dada didn’t do meaning.

I’d pull them out of the bag, meaning

To create a poem from a newspaper.

It worked for Tristan Tzara,

(Bad luck if any words rhyme!).

I was slowly assembling a poem

Against all of Shakespeare’s advice.

To the letter of dada advice,

I could see my work had no meaning.

Imagine — funding cuts in a poem,

Such a fruitful source is a newspaper.

I was destroying all risk of rhyme,

Just like Tristan Tzara.

The poem will resemble you, said Tzara,

Such was his sage advice.

I had slaughtered the idea of rhyme,

And all pretence of logic or meaning.

But does chopping up yesterday’s newspaper

Mean you’ve actually written a poem?

I pondered this concept of a poem,

And wondered about Tristan Tzara.

Had I cut up the right kind of newspaper?

Had he given me good advice?

Hell, is there anything wrong with meaning?

And what is wrong with rhyme?

So, dear reader, putting aside rhyme,

If you do take dada’s advice,

Your poems will never have meaning.

the concrete beehive

(a pantoum)

i wish i was a feral kitten in a box with a clock

tsunamis of faceless faces wash me away

the vulnerable inhabit the doorways

it’s all about money

tsunamis of faceless faces wash me away

i don’t know where to turn

it’s all about money

i don’t know where I belong

i don’t know where to turn

i am trapped someone help me

i don’t know where I belong

i hate this concrete beehive

i am trapped someone help me

the vulnerable inhabit the doorways

i hate this concrete beehive

i wish i was a feral kitten in a box with a clock

James Aitchison is an Australian author and poet whose credits include the Adelaide Literary Magazine, the Australian Poetry Anthology, Quadrant, Aesthetica, Poetry for Mental Health, Literary Yard, and many others.