Saturday, 10 September 2011

The Clown and the New World - Part 3

How deep does the jester sink? All the way to Hell?
We are back again with our wandering, wondering, clown serching for the Way.
It is adviced that you read part one and two before you read this.

Part 1 - Tragic beginnings and the Livid Storm
Part 2 - The Carnival is Dead
Part 3 - The Clown and Robert Johnson
Part 4 - The Angel and the Greatest Show on Earth 

Relax your mind for it is time to journey back to the New World.

He’s stranded now without a job
in a one horse town.
He takes a stroll to look around.
then sets his course for the only bar
to swamp his feelings with a drink.
Anything to stop him think.
But as he nears the door he hears
sweet sounds from a guitar.
He’s never heard such sounds before.
It grabs his hurting heart and tear
and tear and tear, but not apart,
rather piercing like a dart.
Picking strings
while he sings
it sounds as sweet as art.
Like the very hand of God
had sprouted from a man,
for only the divine it can
turn soul straight into sound
as coarse and harsh and primitive
as from this coloured fellow,
that sits in the darkened corner
Looking  rather mellow.
Strumming, picking, plucking
the soul from his guitar.

The guitarist was hardly old enough
to be called a man.
“He’s but a boy how can it be?
I need to know how it began.
Can there be enough inside of him
of life both sweet and grim?
Heaven, earth and all between
from the time before the very day
when God him self would say:
let there be time and space and life
and death and all between
and all the way until it ends
in eternity.
How comes it that this young man can
so easily convey
all this just through his play”

When the music stops
the jester goes
over with a drink.
‘Those sounds
they sure are sweet.
They really make me think,
that never in my time I’ve heard
their like before, my friend.
The lacerations through my soul that loss
of love from life it tore,
your music seems to mend.’

“I’m glad it makes you feel like this.
For the price to play so sweet a tune
was my soul to the abyss
on Beelzebub’s harpoon.
Satan showed me how to croon
and play this old guitar
He promised me I’d be a star.
But in return I had to give
The Evil One control
Of my immortal soul.”

The Merrier he drank his drink
And gave it all a good old think.
“I’ll ask the devil to make of me
the funniest man on earth.
Make my mother the only one
to ever have given birth
to such a man of mirth.
I see no further down from here
so tell me, if you can,
where can I meet this devil man?
I’d like of him to make it so
each time I do a show
I’m always met with laughter
never met with frowns.
I want him to make of me
the ultimate King of clowns.

‘You must be sure
that’s what you want.
For the price you’ll have to pay
is that you must sign away
your own immortal soul.’

“Oh I don’t care about my look
my empty gut or smell.
I have hurt too much to care
I now want to excel.”
But in his heart he hoped
that he would to find a way
to keep Beelzebub at bay.

then I’ll tell you all you need,
all you need to know.
You have to get a crucifix
one that’s made of birch.
I know there is just such a cross
You can steal from that little church.
Then go to the crossroads
on the other side of town.
Just past the hallowed ground
where the gallows tree
stands black and dead.
You have to remember what I said
Nothin’ will work instead.
Then place your hands around the cross
so it is upside down.
You got to stick it in the ground
so the Lord’s whole head is in.
If you put it right way round, you see,
your luck’ll be runnin’ thin.
You must be sure his head is Buried,
burried in the dirt.
This is a fact I must assert
the Lord
must be made inert.
His ears must be covered
so he can’t hear.
His eyes must be blind
so he can’t see.
You’ll have to spit,
you’ll have to swear.
and carve a skull
and dead-man’s bones
deep into a tree.
Then you got to be waitin’,
the Devil don’t come right away.
When he comes, you got to pray
you know just what to say.
The Devil wont be waitin’
for you to make up your mind.
If you meet him
with your mind unmade
the Devil don’t care to be kind.”

The Clown gets a wooden cross and
plants it upside down,
in the centre of the crossing roads
the call to hell is sown.

The Armenian merry-man
stood waiting in the sun.
He put his round, red clown nose on
transformation had begun.
The fool inside crept out from sleep,
funny enough to make grown men weep.

But the hours came and went away,
it is hard to clown around all day.
He reached into his jacket lining
and fished out a flask of rum.
It didn’t even touch his mind
That to drink might just be dumb.
Don’t dance with the Devil drunk, they say,
you just won’t get your way.
He’ll say he’ll fix your every need
As long as he gets to lead.

Shuffling ‘round in the wilted grass
He spotted a thing that shone like brass
In the yellow straw by the dusty road,
a little lantern gone astray
had become the castle for a toad.
And he fell on his face to pray.
Then he shook the cane toad king
from the throne where he tried to cling.

To find a little light
to illuminate the dark
was just what he did need.
If the devil came upon him
after the sun‘d gone down.
He was sure a simple clown
would in the darkness drown.
Unless there was a way he could
create a little spark
and with it plant a burning seed.
It is best to see your steps
if the devil’s in the lead.

The hours ticked past
with lead-footed pace
Soon the scare crow suited clown sat
staring into space.
Far away he saw some sheep
And before long he fell asleep.

He wakes up to the sound of steps
coming up the road.
His heart it hammers,
his breath is short
and long gone is his toad.
There’s no fire in his lantern
But he holds it non-the less.
He checks his round red nose is straight,
that the crucifix is desecrate.
He is ready to transgress.
The sound of steps from hobnail boots
on the feet of a Hobo man.
“The times they must be hard
he thought,
when the Devil walks the land.
Are you the one called Beelzebub
who comes out from the dark?”
The hobo laughed and said he was
called by many names,
but Beelzebub was stark.
‘Well, then Devil, I’ll ask you this:
Can you make of me the king of fools?
The funniest of every man
who don’t have to follow rules.’

The Hobo he stood quiet now,
they felt the warm wind blow,
the hobo’s eyes was staring at
the red nose of a clown.
‘You don’t look like you are bound
by rules and regulations.
No, to me it seems you should
perform at celebrations.’

“That’s exactly what I want.
I want to be the best.
The one that’s so uproarious
he’s different from the rest.”

 “Well, if you’re sure you think that’s true
that all of that is truly you,
that’s just what you should do.”

“If you’ll do me this
I’ll give to you my immortal soul.
I assume that’s what you want.
The hobo looked bewildered now
and stood there like a cow.

‘I thought you asked just in jest
to get something of your chest.
But actually you think I am the evil king of pest.
I tell you clown:
I am not different from the rest.
And my advice to you is this
If you harbor such desires,
to really be a king
or any kind of fool
I believe just as a rule,
you must do it for yourself.
There will be no help from Lucifer
or God on heavens shelf.
If your desire lies in art
just listen to your heart.
If deep in there, you know you want
to be an idiot savant
That fills good folks with laugh and joy
Bring happiness to girl and boy,
You must listen to yourself
With your heart as a compass on your way
you will never go astray.’
With this the Hobo walked away
down the dusty road
with no delay.

The jester stood alone
to kick the dust and groan.
He hadn’t dared to look inside
deep inside himself,
for there he knew what would reside.
A hole so deep and black and dark
It would eat him like a shark.
With this inside it wasn’t strange
That people didn’t laugh.
The sorrow grown from loosing her
wrecked his fate in all mankind.
It tore his heart and soul and mind
Until his art was so confined
It spoke to none,
not even him.

‘So long my only want has been,
I want her back.
This has been my nightly plea,
my poor minds only track.
Why did you take her from me Lord?
Why did you not take me?
How many nights’ been spent like these
With grief devouring me like disease,
my heart refusing to let it go
the image of her drowned below.
If I am to stay around
on this retched earth
I must make my life have worth.
I must release her from my heart and mind
To let what’s happened be behind
and let my soul appease.

The Merrier stood abruptly up
And grabbed the crucifix.
‘I’m hanging up this call to hell
I no longer wish to sell
my very soul for tricks.’

Then in the dark he took the cross
and dug a little grave.
To come to terms with loss
and her that he still crave
he decides that he must bury
the only thing that’s left from home.
He dropped the old red clowny nose
into the little grave
the carefully covered it with moss
then threw away the cross.

The end of the day is nothing but a new beginning. Our clown has begun anew standing naked in a new world.  As your friend, let me tell you the conclusion to the epic tale will be all that you could hope. The final chapter is upon us, check it out, you owe it to yourself to discover how it ends in part four

Yours truly
Captain Frodo

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