May 8: Umberto Fiori, "At the Circus," Shrine Circus

At the Circus

by:  Umberto Fiori
translated by:  Geoffrey Brock

At the center of the lit circle, rising

from cotton-candy calf muscles,

the White Clown ushers his

eyebrows skyward. He grates his ukulele,

opens a heart-shaped mouth, inhales—

his serenade begins.

Now's the time. From the shadows,

a blast like a trumpeting elephant:

obscene, ragged. The Auguste capers like a fawn,

darts away, pads around

with his trombone. The gold of the slide

slips into and out of the infinite.

Everything smells of panther

and piss and mint. His gaze fixed

on the clash between the welled tears

and the awful laughing shoes,

the little boy grows

ever more grave, ever more severe.

_________________________

Went to the Shrine Circus with my kids this evening.  I've been doing this every year since my daughter was in kindergarten.  Progressively, it has gotten to be more and more expensive.  It's almost like going to Disney World on vacation now.

The first time I took my daughter to the circus, she had an allergic reaction to the lions or hay or something.  She could barely breathe.  We had to leave before the clowns even piled out of their car.  The first time I took my son to the circus, he rode on the back of an elephant for $15.  One time around the center ring.  The elephant crapped half-way through, and my son nearly threw up.

I, myself, am not a big fan of clowns.  They are the scariest things under the big top. 

Saint Marty didn't see the greatest show on Earth.  However, it was pretty darn entertaining. 

September 30: Standing on Thin Air, Randazzo's Fruit Market, 50th Saint Marty's Day

Billy now moved about the party--outwardly normal.  Kilgore Trout was shadowing him, keen to know what Billy had suspected or seen.  Most of Trout's novels, after all, dealt with time warps and extrasensory perception and other unexpected things.  Trout believed in things like that, was greedy to have their existence proved.

"You ever put a full-length mirror on the floor, and then have a dog stand on it?" Trout asked Billy.

"No."

"The dog will look down, and all of a sudden he'll realize there's nothing under him.  He thinks he's standing on thin air.  He'll jump a mile."

"He will?"

"That's how you looked--as though you all of a sudden realized you were standing on thin air."

Standing on thin air.  I frequently experience that feeling.  I can be walking along, smell something like an orange or banana, and suddenly I'm walking through Randazzo's Fruit Market in Detroit with my mother when I was five or six.  I shell a peanut, put it in my mouth, and I'm sitting at the Shrine Circus, watching the tigers jump through a flaming hoop.  I'm in thin air, between now and then.

Billy knows a few things about becoming unstuck in time.  This week, as I approach my 50th Saint Marty's Day, I'm going to be a little unstuck, too.  You're going to have to forgive me if I wax nostalgic about my past.  I'm standing on a mirror, looking down and up on myself.

I have a daughter who's a junior in high school.  She was born in the first year of the new millennium.  She never knew the twentieth century.  Can't remember a time when iPods and iPhones didn't exist.  I have a son in the fourth grade.  He thinks that Barack Obama was and should have been President of the United States forever.  (He and I agree on this little point.)

I will be cleaning my house this afternoon.  Then I will go to church and play the pipe organ.  For dinner, pizza from Pizza Hut.  These are things that I have done on Saturdays, without too much variation, for years.  Not exactly traditions.  More like comfortable routines.  That's what I see in the mirror I'm standing on today.

Saint Marty is thankful for routines.

May 13: Hagfish, Shrine Circus, Best Night Ever

That's my son on the hump . . .

The world is full of creatures that for some reason seem stranger to us than others, and libraries are full of books describing them--hagfish, platypuses, lizardlike pangolins four feet long with bright green, lapped scales like umbrella-tree leaves on a bush hut roof, butterflies emerging from anthills, spiderlings wafting through the air clutching tiny silken balloons, horseshoe crabs . . . the creator creates.  Does he stoop, does he speak, does he save, succor, prevail?  Maybe.  But he creates; he creates everything and anything.

Dillard marvels at the complexity of creation.  Hagfish and platypus, butterfly and spiderling.  She notes the possibility of anything to exist.  It is a fascination that keeps people flocking to things like zoos and circuses--because of the chance to see these wonders up close. 

Now, I am going to talk about attending a circus.  Please do not send any angry comments my way.  I know all the stories.  I have read Water for Elephants.  I am not writing this post to shed light on injustice in the animal kingdom.  I am writing because the Shrine Circus came to town, and my son got to ride on a camel and an elephant.  A dream come true for a seven-year-old boy.  Plus he got cotton candy and popcorn.

It was a small circus, with more jugglers and clowns than big cats and pachyderms.  My son sort of wandered around the arena with eyes as large as silver dollars.  The first thing he did was climb onto a camel.  Then he got a light saber.  Then he rode on the back of an elephant.  He was in heaven.

My daughter and her boyfriend came along, too.  Of course, teenagers have to play it a little cooler than a seven-year-old does.  Before the show began, they were texting and Snapchatting.  When the lights went down, however, they were all about the Siberian tigers and contortionists.  My favorite act:  two women who were quick change artists, switching from dress to dress in a shower of confetti.  It made me feel like a kid again.

Of course, the bottles of water were three dollars each, and a small box of popcorn cost five dollars.  Riding an elephant set us back $15.  We didn't get our faces painted, and no snake pictures were taken.  (I wasn't particularly interested in wrapping a boa constrictor around my neck.)  Circuses are expensive.

But, my son got to see real elephants and tigers.  At the end of the night, as I was getting him in his pajamas, he said, "I had the best night ever."

Saint Marty can't put a price tag on that.

My son out for a stroll on his elephant

May 8: Poetry Reading, Mother's Day, Shrine Circus

There are a couple of things going on tonight.

First, the Shrine Circus is in town.  Second, I committed myself to reading some poems at a Mother/Daughter dinner at a local Lutheran church tonight.  Actually, a good friend asked me to write something for the dinner (the theme is "Daughter's in God's Garden"), and then she asked me to read the poem to the gathering.

I did write a new poem titled "The Garden of Eve."  I will share that poem with you, my disciples, on Mother's Day.  However, I decided that one poem wasn't enough.  I selected two other poems to read.  Both have to do with mothers and daughters.  Both have garden imagery in them.  They'll work really well.

I'm a little disappointed that I don't get to take my daughter to the circus.  It was my turn.  I really like spending time with her, when she's not a hormonal pre-tween.  But, a commitment is a commitment.  My wife will be escorting our daughter to the big top this evening, and I will be sharing poetry with a conclave of mothers and daughters.

It's been a while since I've read poetry in front of a group, so my nerves are beginning to get the better of me.  I've made mistakes in the past, read poems that weren't received very well by my audience.  (One poem, in particular, got me banned from a local bookstore.  The manager even refused to carry my book.  It's a long story.)  I think all three of the poems I picked for tonight are appropriate.  No talk of testicles or vulvas or dead birds.

Saint Marty has gotten much wiser over the years.



I will be the clown reading poetry tonight