Canticle For Robin Williams (Final Version) Poem by Mary Angela Douglas

[for Robin Williams (July 21,1951-August 11,2014)
'Nought but vast sorrow was there --
The sweet cheat gone'
-from Ghost, by Walter De La Mare
dreaming in colour with our eyes wide open
we thought we heard them say that you had fled
oh no oh no oh no we cried we cried we cried
the fool in motley wiser than all kings is dead
by his own hand and we the starless witnesses of the news
and snows bled snows in summer, shock by shock
in California, spreading clockwise fault line by
fault line: can't you make it disappear, sad conjurer,
dear robin, making amends?
but this, this the thing that can't be mended
by a sudden sortie of your hidden angels
fraught with the tinkling of bells on the jester's
cap no more, though doffed and doffed again, to us, before
as if we were royalty in a velvet box
convulsed with happiness; zig-zagging
lightening quick, mercurial, ariel ariel
why, what- is this?
last seen at 10 p.m. on sunday night, and at home..
(yet not at home)
and the fairytale
decreed with its happy ending:
let it be 10 p.m. on a sunday always-
didn't it? or earth, earth has skipped its heartbeat;
honey ceased its sweetness,
captain crossing now, crossing the ragged line-
never coming back this time cross
rainbowed meridians, scarves pulled out of the hats
as if from the borealis, wonderful! and multifaceted,
the doves of extravagant wit flew up from the silk top
hats towards what, towards whom,
towards when you're
jumping off the shortest cliff of all, o Lear, come back
come come back they must be wrong...
the laugh lines in the moons of distant planets dim-
oh were you Hamlet in the end, mad Lear-
the one we thought we knew send not to know
to know to know for whom the bell has tolled
has tolled has tolled has laughter ceased
and music spilling from the soul oh jigsaw piece
my favorite one! exclaimed the child in us
all unconsoled:
is merriment weeping unregaled?
ah, Genie, out of the bottle now, murmured
the Academy.
o tenderest of clowns
we will not find you though
the puzzle's strange without you
fretting upon no stage at all that we can see.
the hour was golden, seized,
but it has raveled, these, our revels...
dies, laughter on the lips of God for
this brief shining,
now
mary angela douglas 12 august 2014; 10 june 2019