Carnival
This poem was written for two reasons: 1) it’s (I think) #2 in the series some persona poems that I am working on, and 2) for Read Write Poem Prompt #98: Whee!. The persona is actually one my my alter egos, Nick Raven. Without further explanation, I’ll give you the poem below. Enjoy.
-Nicole
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They think I’m part of the carnival acts. I slip
in and out of shadows, tent pole magic in thin, lanky lines of sable
and squares of canvas casting liquid rhombi of black
upon the ground. All of this, created
by sallow, maudlin, and rainbow lights. The skin
of this exuberant monstrosity is littered with them, and it stinks
of popcorn, cakes made of tangled messes of fried squiggle, and syrup
recast into clouds of pale color and dancing
on the ends of sticks.
My white moon face is an echo
of the round woman above, hanging in the black suspended by nothing
and watching silently. Below her, the unkindness of my companions
hovers above the spinning wheels of light,
a flock of double-arched invisible parentheses
enclosing the stars between their bodies
like an afterthought to this loud noise of a place. One of my friends
perches on my shoulder, pupils darting around his vision arc
to capture it all into his brain. Wisely, he does not caw,
although his gritty black song would be barely noticeable
above the red, white, and blue piped notes
of the calliope sounding behind our backs.
I lean against canvas and let it caress my side. I part
the inky curtain of dim sight, staring intent
into the midway. A swollen parade of young couples, large families,
and teenage gaggles passes by, changing shape and color
marcher by marcher. This molasses crowd
flows past the lights, past the sick stick frames of neon and metal,
spilling over side brims into the grass and booths around me. I want to
watch, watch, and keep watching. Maybe a face will erase
the veil that stands guard in front of my pre-peripatetic memories
and holds them for ransom from me – and I have yet to find out
its asking price. Only shutter blinks of pictures
ever resurface, and even then, they are shattered bits of time:
in mid-breath, they are gone again.
I keep trying to lay pieces side by side,
reconnect their sharp edges, line up triangles to form a square –
but the middle gapes its mouth open,
sucks in the stars beneath my velvet glove fingers.
Above my head, a fountain spray of candy-colored fire
blooms in the black, arching in impossible fleur-de-lis configurations
that birth themselves and then die
for the amusement of the crowd below. Their sudden extinction
is heralded by the fanfare of the asphalt-bound
in trumpets of oooh and aaaaah. Underneath the umbrella of spindly light,
a boy spots me and calls my black and white freeze-frame
out of invisibility.
“Hey, mister!”
I spin and duck behind the tent. The silver buttons
of my cavalry coat clink a rattled tune of flat chimes. Only I
hear their music. It calls me
to disappear, to find another open mouth of shadow
to swallow me up. Inside these temporal cathedrals, I will
wander Freud’s corridors as they
crisscross, sweep, and bend behind my eyes and then
poke at their padded black walls,
looking for pictures,
trying to remember my own name.
Written 10/26/09
© 2009 Nicole Nicholson. All Rights Reserved.
You’ve captured the scene perfectly here. So visual.
I was particularly taken with the moon in the picture and, so, especially appreciated these lines:
My white moon face is an echo
of the round woman above, hanging in the black suspended by nothing
and watching silently.
Nicely written experience. The ending is very strong. What a great way to end a carnival poem:
looking for pictures,
trying to remember my own name.
This are some of my favorite lines–
“The silver buttons
of my cavalry coat clink a rattled tune of flat chimes. Only I
hear their music. It calls me
to disappear, to find another open mouth of shadow”
–Therese L. Broderick
I love your reference to “this molasses crowd” and “Maybe a face will erase/the veil that stands guard in front of my pre-peripatetic memories”
I really like the solitude of the narrator of this; there’s such a presence of night amid the crowd, loneliness, and an inability by the narrator to gauge himself by those around him; he’s very detached and is desperate to orient himself, which he can only do
with the moon. But unlike in celestial navigation, here it doesn’t seem to help, his surreal, garish surroundings have confined him. This is strong, detailed and well described, the picture of his alienation very palpable.
To me, the narrator of your poem is a metaphor for a carnival ride. He seems to be running in circles with no purpose except to try to remember who he is. The imagery is very vivid. The smells are realistically described. Thank you for sharing this poem, Nicole. i really enjoyed it!
The narrator lurks in the shadows of carnival. Like Therese I’m like the detail of the silver buttons on his calvary coat and his need for hiding.
This was a very interesting and multi-layered read. Your descriptions of the different aspects of the carnival were beautifully rendered, and then adding the last dimension of the narrator (who may be a ghost) added an entirely new dimension! Very good!
nice spin and ride….”fountain spin of candy-colored fire”..especially like that….thanks for sharing this
I really enjoyed your take on this prompt! The imagery was delightful, and you still painted a sort of story with it as well, and that depth just made it that much more enjoyable. I really liked the line “a fountain spray of candy-colored fire
blooms in the black”~ What a delicious way to describe fireworks!
You also evoke Halloween with this spooky carnival experience. Thanks for sharing!