[ Path 3 ] [ poem 1 ] [ poem 2 ] [ poem 3 ] [ poem 4 ]Valery Oisteanu was born in Russia in 1943 and educated in Romania. He adopted Dada and Surrealism as a philosophy of art and life. Immigrating to New York City in 1972, he has been writing in English for the past 28 years. He is the author of 10 books of poetry, a book of short fiction and a book of essays in progress. Oisteanu appears regularly at poetry readings in various New York venues, where he presents original performances of Zen/Dada "jazzoetry."
Report from Absurdistan
13 surreal days and nights
In apartment number 13
Living with 2 women (no sex)
On the street with the unpronounceable name of an aviator
Overlooking an artificial lake
Once there was a garbage dump
And gypsies used to grow flowers there
The hole of the flower girl
We have arrived via Air Absurdistania
Flight 1313, six hours late and all luggage promptly lost
We exchange some of our meager money for millions of theirs
We are wearing the same clothes 3 days in a row
The video crew gets drunk and the TV interview is canceled
The Secret Police pull the plug as the poet reads his plea
He is on a suicide mission
He is trying to heal anti-Semitism
The little popcorn machine from America needs an industrial-sized transformer
Fax machines are wired to be bugged my the ministry
Most don't work at all
Eugene Ionesco, the father of Absurd
Is printed in a popular edition that is partly illegible
Tristan Tzara is the name of a street in Moinesti, Romania
Gellu Naum, the son of Absurd, receives the Eminescu prize in Bucharest and
one in Senegal
Toilets broken, water scarce Neighbors are enlisted members of the secret police
(Securitate)
Coca Cola tastles different
The Ecology magazine has a naked woman on the cover
Monarchy Absurdistan style.
The King is in exhile
Fish uncooked
Lamb uncooked
Taxi with no working meter
Printers with no paper
Cars with no gas
The reporter has no batteries for his tape recorder
Welcome to Apathyland, the domain of lasa ma sa te las
Leave me alone and I'll leave you alone
Empty freedom of egoism versus old communial Communism
So be happy with unhappiness
I'm not kidding, just like that Report from Absurdistan
Shrine to the Unstoppable
On the narrow streets of the East Village
Lusty girls approaching playfully
They open their chalk-white legs
And cherries roll down their smooth thighs
They open their blouses and oranges fall out
They open their teeth
And lips roll out
They open their eyes
And the city is flooded with sensual energy
The flying glass covers the avenues
We are ready, it's just love-food for poetry
Tonight we put on our best perfumes
Tonight we read at Galleria La Mama
We are dancing in a mirror
Tulips dying in a vase
Wine spilling on the floor
We are collaged in a weaving of picto-poetry
Trapped inside ourselves Shrine to the Unstoppable