Skip to main content

Mad March?


Well, perhaps just a little deranged, thinking of Mad March Hares.
But of course they're not at all.  Performing, so that they might look a bit mad, playing a role yes, but no, not mad.

However, pretending to be a little mad - which confers certain privileges if you're a human - can be useful if you're being entertaining if not outrageous, irreverent if not sacrilegious.  Then not-quite-acceptable, perhaps even disgraceful remarks may be seen as no more than slightly irresponsible as you provide laughs, a diversion, or even (or especially) an insight...

Now we're moving into an interesting area.  Poets often grant themselves this permission, as of course do comedians. 

Which brings the role of the Jester to mind - the classic stand-up, generating their own material on the spot in response to the conversation and company, risk-taking for sure, but in sailing so close to the wind, they travel fast, free and light - and impress the onlookers.

When, I wonder, and indeed why, did we abandon the Jester?
Or perhaps (certain politicians cannot be included, as the Jester has no power except that granted to him to entertain) we haven't?

Simplest to look back to those times when the Jester was, well, king. 


Will Somers Carries On...

I am a jester.  Good king Henry’s
the source of my sauce, the role for my royalties.
I Will bring light and warmth from my season –
to all and sundry something of Somers:
be you clouded or sodden, whatever the weather –
whether your son is shining or whether
the reigning gives you rheum and chill,
as a rule, Will will bring good folk good will.

You may rely upon my puns,
rocky rhymes and feeble reason,
rhythms that will trip you up –
my queries, quips and quiddities,
juggles, jests and jolly jokes –
they all live on, although
I lied and died in 1560. Still laughing

Will survives, which is jester’s
well – you yet have need of Will:
without a will, we have no future.
Kings and Queens have come and gone –
(make your own will, incidentally) –
I’ll continue – my trusty monkey
chattering on, chasing fleas…
the work of monarchs if you please,
for I suggest life’s just a jest.



Interestingly, exploiting ambiguities, using puns, rhymes, assonances and alliterations and even malapropisms (is that word itself wrong, being anachronistic?) - all the stuff of the Jester - are tools in the poetry box too.

Sadly, many of the examples of Somers' humour hardly raise a smile now.  But perhaps that doesn't matter, as he was obviously a great laugh then.  Although the two portraits of him both show a serious looking fellow - more like a poet actually, than a stand-up.

Still, he carries his monkey on his shoulder, like a Pullman daemon - his prop, identification and reminder. 

Personally, I'd like a hare, mad or not.
But I'm sure it wouldn't stay there - it would be off to run around in the fields, and have a scrap - slightly madly.



PS If you love hares, you might find this interesting

http://www.chrischapmanphotography.co.uk/hares/page8.htm

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

We were all together there in a foretime

    I find myself attracted to certain words, and here’s one.  Not a word often heard in modern speech, but perfectly proper and well-used since at least the sixteenth century. I came across it in Seamus Heaney’s Section 3 of Keeping Going in his phrase – We were all together there in a foretime. I imagined hearing in my mind’s ear his attractive rich voice rolling it out.   Foretime. Not just, or simply, the past, but a   foretime . (Interesting, that 'a'.  Not 'the', but 'a'). Fore , from before, so it is of course the past, but with a slightly different twist – an added dimension arising from the other words which use fore, as in forecast, foretell or even forehead, when it somehow also looks ahead, to the future… what lies before us? Foretime, Aftertime… be all that as it may, we’ve been here before, it affected us all then, it’s doing the same now and it’s threatening to overwhelm us in the future.   We were all together there in a for

The Signpost

Here’s a signpost – originally distinctive, being unique and handmade, and now even more so, with the evidence of ageing.   … numbers, distances, which way? While all signposts are interesting in their duty to inform, their presentation of choices and their simple declarative presence, I find this one special. It’s not just that it has much to say in terms of where you actually are, in which direction you might choose to go, how far your destination is (down to quarter mile accuracy) and even if your chosen method of transport is suitable. It’s also special in the simple elegance of its design, with the arms’ supports and the bevelled edges of the main post rising to that unexpected point. But the specialness goes further.  My friend James Ravilious took me there just at this time of year, over twenty years ago.  It was then upright and brilliant white, with crisp black letters. He certainly thought it was special, photographing it lovingly, in May 1988 ( Chawleigh Week Cross –

The Three Hares

  The Three Hares We continue on our way running, running, running around held together tip to tip so I can hear what she can hear as well as her. And the other follows me in front of her – we are joined up by our ears so we follow, lead and follow running, running, running around we continue on our way. Running, running, running around – no cause for worry – what's to come has already been. The future's past – watch us here – we're going nowhere – the last is first and first is last. Our present moment sees us still although we seem to race – running, running, running around we continue. On our way running, running, running around hearing your persistent questions – why do you keep on asking? We cannot tell you any more. May you share your senses and find soft silence at your centre which is so close, while you go on running, running, running around. The turning of the year, with the various thoughts about the past and the future that c