Clown Spirit – Watching Marcel Marceau

little by little I no longer believe that
he’s trying to please with his sadness –
the stage crowded with symbols
and allusions looks vast because
the swirling breeze of the imagination
gently triggers syllables in the brain

he says he’s lonely

he writes poetry, juggling soft signs
that leave even less of a trace than words . . .
he binds himself
he is carving time
he plays a game of tug of war with himself, miserable child,
it seems as if too much probing
has made him a loner, off on his own and
immersed in a game he alone understands

then he’s ripped to shreds
fought over by hordes of visible ghosts
he is tripped up by his own shadow
he smashes every mirror in the room
he tries to escape
he takes me by the hand, teaching me how to caress

there’s no escape . . . I agree
numerous silent thoughts
flash by in an instant – on stage
humanity is everywhere looking for a loophole
he insists on pointing it out without language
he shifts an enormous, invisible boulder on his own –

dribbling an innocent ball
he tells me that this is the planet on which we live
weary of Olympian tasks, he says he wants to take a break
and join the rest of humanity

1983

CLOWN SPIRIT – WATCHING MARCEL MARCEAU