The Circus; such a dirty phrase that does
no justice to the old magic of the
word Carnival. The Carnival was such
a place of intrigue, false identities
and shrouded faces which we flirted with
as children, peeking from behind our parents legs.
The men and women of the show did so
much else than perform feats and tricks. Hidden
from paying eyes, the people under the
grease-paint and top-hats, stage lights, leotards
and glitter, lived in trailers cracked with rust.
With no one watching, they would play the songs
of home – of Spain, of Sweden, of Utah –
to children of their own, and whisper tunes
in French and Gaelic over tinny sounds
of mandolins and banjos under the
deflated Big Top and ice-white moonlight.
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Alex, this is a very beautiful and intriguing poem. The language gives it the jumbled feel of a circus, yet meanwhile there’s a darkness looming over it. Very beautiful. As for some more technical things, the line “The men and women of the show did so much else than perform feats and tricks” could be worked on a little bit. It seems as though the line is more for moving along the story, than for lyrical aesthetics, however, it should contain both because I noticed it seeing as it is a major turning point in the poem. I realize this is hard considering the meter, but if you wanted to keep it a simple line, make the idea of revealing something about the performers even more simple and blunt, creating a haunting effect. I do however like the “feats and tricks”; I suggest you keep that in there.
ReplyDeleteI like how you take a subject so magical and fantastic and hit it with splashes of reality like the line “they would play the songs of home – of Spain, of Sweden, of Utah” and “Hidden from paying eyes, the people under the grease-paint and top-hats, stage lights, leotards and glitter, lived in trailers cracked with rust.” You play with an interesting idea by describing such a mystical place and bringing concrete and almost humorous light to the scene. The end lines “and whisper tunes in French and Gaelic over tinny sounds of mandolins and banjos under the deflated Big Top and ice-white moonlight” are magical and haunting, tying in all the different tones of the poem.
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