The last night of the circus before it packs up and moves on. A bird's-eye view of a fireworks show, as the audience looks upward to the exploding, glittering, flashing display over the safety net in the center ring.
I am rarely this literal, and I believe I overthought this week's challenge. I had never used either Cack or Tropicana, and so had to learn them first, and I did not feel inspired by them. And the challenge to consider what I think about when I think abou the circus led to the insight that the circus culturally is always some sort of metaphor. And that led me to recall a favorite poem by Archibald MacLeish called "The End of the World."
Quite unexpectedly, as Vasserot
The armless ambidextrian was lighting
A match between his great and second toe,
And Ralph the lion was engaged in biting
The neck of Madame Sossman while the drum
Pointed, and Teeny was about to cough
In waltz-time swinging Jocko by the thumb
Quite unexpectedly to top blew off:
And there, there overhead, there, there hung over
Those thousands of white faces, those dazed eyes,
There in the starless dark, the poise, the hover,
There with vast wings across the cancelled skies,
There in the sudden blackness the black pall
Of nothing, nothing, nothing -- nothing at all.
Obviously, by "white faced, those dazed eyes" are looking up not into the "black pall" but into a dazzling fireworks show.
As I was mulling over how to respond to the challenge, I coincidentally heard for the first time on the radio a lecture by e.e. cummings:
“Damn everything but the circus! ...damn everything that is grim, dull, motionless, unrisking, inward turning, damn everything that won't get into the circle, that won't enjoy. That won't throw it's heart into the tension, surprise, fear and delight of the circus, the round world, the full existence...”
I would like now to read his Non-Lectures (1953). I also came across this:
"The Adult, the Artist and the Circus" (1925)
So, ungentle reader, (as you and I value what we should ashamed--after witnessing a few minor circus-marvels--to call our "lives,") let us never be fooled into taking seriously that perfectly superficial distinction which is vulgarly drawn between the circus-show and "art" or "the arts." Let us not forget that every authentic "work of art" is in and of itself alive and that, however "the arts" may differ among themselves, their common function is the expression of that supreme alive-ness which is known as "beauty." This being so, our three ring circus is art--for to contend that the spectacle in question is not an authentic manifestation of "beauty" is as childish, as to dismiss the circus on the ground that it is "childish," is idiotic.
from E. E. Cummings, "The Adult, the Artist and the Circus." Vanity Fair 25 (October 1925): 57 & 98.
In conclusion: I explored two of my favorite poets using the Circus as a metaphor in very different ways. So, the challenge led me on a rewarding excursus.
As for my own attempt: I cannot say what the zentangle is a metaphor of. It requires more analysis and meditation. Certainly something about spectacle, something about art, something about risk and safety nets, and something about the mutability of all things--the circus finale. And perhaps the geometry of form that informs all things, including the circus.