1
In the faraway land of Hayastan,
unfamiliar to the unschooled man,
beneath the mountain that once was
the port for Noah’s Ark,
lived a man that made a life as
a clown, in a circus park.
But there were no laughs in his caravan,
Life was hard for this poor man,
awaiting Death to take his wife,
one of two loves in his life.
Filled with grief the clown he saw
his wife wasting away,
but knew that there had to be
meaning in all dismay.
The horrid symptoms of consumption
was God’s will, was his assumption.
His other love, his little girl,
became motherless in this world.
The Clown took he the death to mean
it had been time for change.
He thought the best would be to board
a boat to somewhere strange.
His landlocked homeland had no shores
he had to journey for a ship.
He packed his case and then prepared
his daughter for the trip.
He couldn’t wander west,
through Anatolia.
For there they slew his country men,
he would go through Georgia.
He traveled long and he traveled far
Out to the dark Black Sea.
He boarded a vessel that would sail
To the New World filled with glee.
They sailed through the Bosperus strait
Where he thaught his girl to fasten bait.
They stopped a day on the isle of Malta
then journeyed past the rock of Gibraltar.
They’d sailed far out on the open sea,
no land had been in sight,
when a livid storm hit their ship
in the dead of night.
2
The wind it roars and the sails they crack
as the ship is going down.
He protects his girl from the waves’ attack.
“I will not
let you drown.”
But the sea
is strong and it’s liquid arms
they are so
full of force.
The
drowning clown is willful, but weak.
You can
never keep back anything
the ocean
wants, of course,
but the
father refuses to give up,
though life
is bleak.
They draw
their breath
and pray
that they wont die
as the tired
father treads the sea
and tries
to hold her high.
He tells
her
“It will
all be good,”
but he
knows it is a lie.
His legs
they burn in the icy sea,
the painful
fear and agony
tears at
the poor clowns soul.
He’s
clinging to his faith of old
“Please
save me lord above,
take me
please, and let her live,
my only
little love.”
Nothing
changes
God does
not appear to hear.
“Why would God tear my child from me?
take
innocent life away at whim?”
He spits, and burps and chokes, and coughs,
barely
managing to swim.
He knows
that the Almighty’s plan
is
inscrutable to man.
There is no
way a mortal can
even start to understand.
But he
knows his own girls’ heart is pure,
she’s a
beaming innocent.
“Please My
Lord don’t drown her dead
I promise
I’ll repent.
I’ll stop
this silly life of mine
the
constant sheer frivolity.
Please God,
I beg you Lord
let her
escape mortality
So many of
your church men said
That only
sin and devils work
With circus
and laughs is spread
I thought
them wrong, I couldn’t see
That you
were only testing me
to not
trust my own head.
A little
child so young and weak,
how could
you in your wisdom seek
such havoc
for the meek.”
He needs a
rest so desperately
but the
storm is blowing ceaselessly.
With his
girl’s arms around his neck
Like an
anchor from a ship,
She shouts
into his dripping ear
with
diction like a whip
“Please
strong father hold me fast.
I can not
even see the mast!
How can we
sail to the New World
without
even a boat?”
He smiles
to calm his little girl
Whilst struggling
to float.
With his
last remaining strength
He takes
his necklace of his head
It has
always kept him safe
And
promised hope ahead
Now he
wants his girl to have
all his
hope instead.
It sparkles
as the lightening flash
and shortly
lights the dark.
It is a
golden recreation
of Noah’s
Ark.
And how it
hurts his soul to see
this symbol
of a boat
That saved
each living thing
by keeping
them afloat.
He prays
again to his Lord God
“Please
send an Ark for me,
I can not
hold her anymore
please end
this misery.”
But nothing
comes
and the
storm it blows,
blows on, and on, and on.
His legs are lame
and he
knows,
that the
sea has won.
As the
father cries tears of blood
and
trembles with fatigue
The ocean
waves comes crashing in
and finally
end the siege.
It grabs them
both
and tear
and tear,
and tear
and tear apart.
No stronger
love was fought unbound
in ocean or
on solid ground.
So finally
the moment comes
when he no
longer can hold on
As she
slips out of his grip
he sees her
as a swan.
The clown
he isn’t strong enough
to hold his
little girl.
Their
fingers part, she’s drifting off
he thinks
he hears her cough.
In his mind
his cygnet love
swims on to
a better place
it brakes
his heart to look upon
her little
drowning face.
“Why do you
deem it time,” he screams,
but God
does not retort
All his
strife has come to naught
Little hope
remains for him,
it all
seems rather grim.
He wishes
to go to God as well,
so he
doesn’t swim.
3
To his
surprise he woke alive
in a narrow
berth.
It felt
like someone stabbed his heart
now he had no worth,
as in a
flash it came to him:
She had left this earth.
Beside him sat a
sailor
he'd
fallen deep asleep.
The clown turned against the wall
to weep and
weep and weep.
The ship was full of sailors
harpuners and whalers.
As they
fished him from the sea
they found the clown's red nose.
There were
mumbles and commotion,
“only clowns wears one of those.”
And the men
proposed in jest
the
man he was a clown.
But, when asked if it was so,
he would
only frown.
Then one day the ship it
docked
in the tiniest of ports.
The half dead fool, he left ship,
dressed finely up, of sorts.
he headed straight for town
in nothing but a gown.
He had no
place to be or go
but
walking numbed the pain.
No thing to do, no folks to meet
he swirled into a drain.
His mind could fly so far away
and he could be
relieved.
The walking
it was good for him,
that was
what he believed.
But he was
almost naked
so far away
from home,
he would
need some clothes and shoes,
if he was
to roam.
In a corn
crop, by the little port
He saw a
scarecrow standing,
waving in
the gentle wind
with night
dark ravens landing
on his
outstretched arms,
in a field
between two farms.
A scarecrow
not repulsing birds
is
absolutely obsolete.
With easy
heart the jester could
the
scarecrows clothes deplete.
4
The
stranger in a strange new land
thought
that he would drown
in all the
tears that fell from him,
the broken
hearted clown.
There was
no joy in his heart no-more
Without the
daughter he adored
He only
wished to be ignored.
But
somewhere deep inside there were
a spark
that would deter,
the
harrowed soul from finding death.
It stopped
him seeking his last breath.
Even with a
broken heart
a man must
eat and drink.
But it’s so
hard to make folks laugh
when of
only misery you think.
And soon
his belly rumbled
even louder
than his heart
and he knew
the time had come
for his
display’s of mirth to start.
In the
Scarecrow’s suit
he made up
his mind.
“I’ll present
my act on the seaport square.
From the
look of all these sour-faced men
a show like
this, is rare round here.”
He found a
spot he thought would work,
wiped away
a little tear.
He begun
his old routines from home
but found
the acts fell flat.
As he did
his best to make them laugh,
they all
shunned him like a rat.
Moments
meant for laughter
were
ominously silent
other
moments meant for joy,
on the
brink of being violent.
By the
culmination of his act
the
audience had left
the
ancient, lonely harlequin
was quite
alone in fact.
To stop his
hunger,
he stole a
bread
and ate it
in the grave yard,
surrounded
by the dead.
And so it
went for many months
the clown
became a thief.
To avoid
the law his stays in towns
they all
became quite brief.
On feet or
in a railroad cart
always
further south.
Tormented
by his drowning girl
consumed by
Neptune’s mouth.
The dust it
blew right through him
as he
walked the wind swept land
not enough
of food to eat
neither
fresh nor canned.
He was
heading straight into a drought.
On his long
and lonesome way,
way, way,
way down south,
Then one
day as the clown
walked into
a town
there was a
circus in the square.
A tiny
little horse drawn show
with a
Strongman and a bear.
The half
starved and thirsty clown,
walked up
like he belonged.
He tried to
tell the circus men
he was a
clown from far away
who had by
life been wronged.
The strong
man laughed and told him
straight up
to his face
“You, a
clown, I doubt that’s true.
You look
like a disgrace.”
The jester he
would not give up
He wanted
bad to be on show
on a stage,
in a big top.
But they
did not want to hire him
as a funny
man.
They didn’t
think he’d have a plan
to make
crowds laugh until they’d weep.
Instead
they saw the poor old man
as a
homeless creep.
But finally
he got a job
as a low
paid geek.
He got his
board
and two
bucks per week.
So the
clown that lost his luck
now made a
living eating snakes.
He found he
didn’t mind
If he
imagined they were steaks.
They
traveled in the horse drawn carts,
from town
to town,
but every
village, just as bad
there just
weren’t no cash around.
The shows
were empty
but the
fairground full
of people
looking in.
The
children looked so awfully thin.
Trying to
get a man to gamble
a game, he
couldn’t win
was crime
as dark as sin.
When people
starve
then no one
wants
see the
Wildman eat a snake.
With enough
days without a bite
you have
such a belly-ache,
seeing a
man in a pit
bite the
head right of a snake
does not
repulse a bit.
Then after
many weeks of this
they
arrived into a town
Every river
had run dry,
with deep
cracks in the ground.
There had
been no rain for months,
perhaps
even for years.
The sound
of crying, thirsty babes
filled
their dusty ears.
Just before
the show should start
the
promoter called them ‘round,
famous for
his armored heart,
he told
them that the world they knew
had begun
to fall apart.
The fat
promoter climbed atop
the wagon
filled with poles.
He raised
his hands and cleared his throat
to the
parched cries of a dancing goat.
“There is
no money in any town
neither here
nor there,
all the
water has turned brown,
we are
miles from anywhere.”
His
eyebrows furrowed as he said
“We are
sorry to have to tell you this
but the
Carnival is Dead.”
He took his
hat so solemnly
of his
sweaty head
and placed
it right before his heart
as an
example for the crew,
but his
face, a tad to smug,
the
Strongman yelled
“screw you”
But there
were no doubt in any mind
That the
fairground did unwind.
And the
carnival disbanded when
the
management ran off
there were
many hefty quarrels
and plenty
fight and scoff
before they
all went separately
out in the
world, all free.
5
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.
‘Well,
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.”
6
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.
7
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.
8
He wanders
on as born anew
ruminating
on what’s true.
“What is
truly part of me and of my desires?
Do I still
retain in me what my work requires?”
The road is
long, the country vast
he travels
slow and fast.
The road
slowly eats his shoes.
He’s almost
ready for a snooze
when some
papers blow right past.
“It is two
circus flyers.”
His heart
starts pounding very fast.
And there
it is so splendidly
standing in
a field.
It’s trains
and wagons all around,
a Big Top
and Menagerie
so lavishly
revealed.
It is the
greatest show on earth,
finally,
he’ll show his worth.
This is his
perfect chance.
So happy is
our little clown
He jigs a
little dance.
It is the
great big circus’ charity matiné,
he hears
the proud ringmaster say.
‘Are all
the kids from the Orphanage here?’
from the
tent, a great big cheer.
‘How ‘bout
the kids from the hospital?’
the
response, not quite as capital.
Some kids
too weak and others broken
but their
smiles are their tokens,
they never
could have loved it more.
It makes
their spirits soar.
‘This is
it, this is the day,
now can
come whatever may.
No more
masks.
The nose is
gone.
I never
willed
to be the
best
I just
wanted to be me.
I was
stupid not to see
What is
done comes not undone.
No longer
will I run.
I’ll be
doing this for them
For all
those who remind me of
my only
little love.
He sneaks
inside the grand big top
looking
like a hobo.
There’s no
one there to tell him stop.
As he
enters through the canvas flaps
his luck of
luck it is
the clown
brigade
is on his
way to stop a fire’s fizz.
Stupid
looking firemen in baggy pants and suits,
other
grotesquely smiling clowns
dressed in
giant boots,
are
stomping on a fire.
Whilst they
fall and run around
our hobo
clown stands still
with
tension and a zeist for life -
his dreams
so soon fulfilled.
Then the
clowns they notice him.
“Is that
hobo clown a bum?”
The Clown
Captain runs across
to evict
him from the ring
but our
hobo clown plays dumb
he doesn’t
care about a thing.
Then the
crowd all notice him
he goes out
on a limb.
As the
Clown Captain grabs his neck
our clown
he wrestles loose
and gives
the Captain’s cheek a peck.
Then he
falls down to the ground
in the most
surprising manner
he rolls
and squirms just like a snake
towards the
circus banner.
The
children laugh at the funny man.
That makes
the other clowns get mad.
‘Who is
this guy stealing laughs and joy?
Who makes
all the gags we can employ
seem
tiresome and old.
Let’s get
the intruder out of here.
When we get
our funny hands on him
he wont be
so bold.
But as they
do the best they can
to grab the
clumsy man
he falls or
drops or spins around
to the
music of the band.
His tricks
miraculously saves him
from the
fury of the clowns.
Which makes
them chase him harder,
sawdust
flying from the grounds.
The
Ringmaster did shout:
“Who is
this guy I want him out
he is
ruining the show.”
The mighty
swarm of clowns
is closing
on our funny man,
his chances
they look slim,
but it doesn’t
seem to bother him.
He jumps
inside the centre ring
where the
tiger cage is set.
He runs
inside and quickly stops,
kicking
sawdust and some bottle tops,
then all
the clowns gets in the cage
with
sinister looking props.
But just
before they jump on him
comes the
most surprising stunt.
He jumps
out through safety gap,
so tight it
makes him grunt.
And snaps
the lock down shut.
Then he
stands alone.
The only in
the ring.
For a
moment there he thinks
he hears
the angels sing.
He is the
only one not in a cage.
The clowns
all are looking
like lions
in their rage.
The
thunderous applause
and the
loud appreciation,
so powerful
that it shook
the entire
nation
The
ringmaster says:
“Who is
this guy?
I need to
know
I want him
in the show.”
Everyone
inside the tent,
there is
more than
ten
thousand
stands up
in their ovation.
Which is
quite unusual
for a
clowns creation.
“I have
never witnessed this
and I have
been around,”
said the
stirred Ringmaster,
he was
breathing ever faster.
“He doesn’t
wear a painted face.
No red nose
sits in place.
It’s just a
man.
The
applause it has become so wild
it’s drowning
out the band.”
All the
crowd is clapping
Except one
little girl.
Warily the
girl stands up
and strokes
away a curl
Eyes locked
at the hobo
She walkes
out in the ring.
For the
first in the longest time
the old
clown is happy.
Forgotten
is the strife and grime.
He’s
feeling rather sappy.
Then he
sees the little girl
and her
long blond hair.
Like an
angel, she’s so fair.
She looks
just like his little girl.
So
beautiful she can’t be
of this
retched world.
The crowd’s
noise,
so loud it
makes him dizzy.
His little
brain is way too busy.
‘It cannot
be.
Was I not
free?
Why come
this apparition now to me?’
His heart
is pounding in his chest
Almost
bursting from his breast.
‘Now, I am
possessed.’
He holds on
to his breaking heart.
‘This is
it.
She has
come to take me home.
My heart
has broken.
Thank you
lord for letting me
make them
laugh again.
Smiles
abound so nice to see.
Just one
more time before I died.
Thank you
and amen.’
He holds
his arms out to the side
towards his
angle girl
Now let us
fly. Take us home
up through
the circus dome.
Let
eternity unfurl.
If my mind
is playing tricks on me,
if this all
is a dream,
then dear
God let me please
just sleep
and sleep and sleep.
His eyes
are now so filled with tears.
He he can
not see her face
The girl
holds out her hands
into empty
space.
And the
crowd quiets down a bit
Some in the
front now sit.
His tears
makes him strain his eyes
makes the
spotlights shine like stars.
Then he
sees the necklace
on her neck
so slight.
It fills
him fast as fright:
A picture
of that night.
The
Necklace that he knows so well,
the ship of
holy writ.
The very
recreation.
The very
Noah’s ark
he gave to
her before the swell
ate her
like a shark.
Now she
comes on over
and
whispers out his name.
And after
that our old clown
never was
the same.
The old man
buckles and falls down to his knees
She puts
her arms around her dad.
‘Please now
father don’t be sad
You
promised me: ‘it won’t be bad.’
And now I
know its true.
I have so
much to tell to you
I clung so
long to the broken mast
But please
now father
hold me
fast
and never
let me go.
They said
that you would never come
but I
always told them no.’
The father
cried and cried and cried
He couldn’t
make it stop.
No matter
how he tried
He flung
his arms around his girl.
‘My
precious little pearl.
The miracle
of miracles,
It finally
came through.
Standing
real before me now
it is
really you.
It really
is my gorgeous dove
my only
little love.’
x
Thank to all those of you who found time for the full experience.
Yours truly
Captain Frodo
An understandable and rational explanation is not immediately satisfying to our stone-age minds. We cling to creation myths and notions of biological developments of irreducible complexity, because having a secret told when we aren't ready really hurts. Secrets can be weapons. There is power in wielding them, not just in the
illusions they can create, but in the illusions they can shatter.
