This poem is about the Hartford Circus Fire of 1944, in which a circus tent filled primarily with women and children, caught fire. 3 of the 6 exits were blocked by animal cages. No performers or animals died, but 168 spectators did, 71 of whom were children. Here are their names.

As a resident of Hartford, I have known about this fire my whole life. I found it difficult to incoporate all 71 names. My intent is for the reader to whisper the names. Is it working? or totally not?

You don’t “come from” this city
without knowing the story of
(Donald, Elaine, Gail)
the day Hell came to Hartford
because everyone knows someone
(Mary, Roy, Eldoras)
who knew someone
(Judith, Ann, Arland)
who was there.

With Daddies and husbands at work or war,
the mothers and aunties of
(Shirley, Fred, Stephen)
hot, bored, summer children
(George, James, Edith)
gathered and took them
(Joseph, Jacqueline, Rita)
to the circus.

Lions and clowns and highwire acts
performed for
(Edward, Eleanor, Joseph)
a crowd 6,000 thick
little fingers
(Carolyn, Loretta, Anna)
became sticky with spun sugar,
brothers threw popcorn
(William, Ellen, Richard)
at girls.

Mothers and aunties of
(Raymond, James, Shileen)
sweaty, excited children
sighed in the heat,
their dresses clinging
(William, Mary Jane, Muriel)
to the backs of their legs
on their seats.

The children
(Adrienne, Kenneth, Claire)
clapped when the band played a song
that reminded them of their fathers
and when someone’s
(Nancy, Peter, Sandra)
mother yelled “FIRE!” no one
could have understood
(Mary, Seymour, Elaine)
how many would live, and how many
(Shirley, Herbert, Georgianna)
would die.

Within the first 5 minutes,
women were dropping their babies
(Sandra, Francis, Jarvis)
through the bleachers,
or hurling them
(Sarah, Roslyn, Charlotte)
over the animal cages
blocking half the exits.

Imagine the crush
(Monica, Stephen, Charles)
the trampling
(Valerie, Agnes, Judy)
in the next 5 minutes
as it began raining fire
on their clothes and heads
(Irene, Daniel, Doris)
and hair and skin and eyes.
(Constance, Frank, Rochelle)

When the stays gave way
the big top crashed down on
(Mary, Joan, Vincent)
families who loved each other,
(Joan, Regina, Paul)
and strangers alike.
It took ten minutes.
They found bodies bonded together.

The flames did not lick gently
(Lorraine, Bruce)
but devoured the air and ate
Aunties, and Grandmas
and the mother of
(Unknown, infant).

Hmmm...so, we're saying it's totally not working?

There are times when the purpose outweighs the delivery and this is one of them. Not to say that the delivery does not work for me, I just feel like this poem should remain the way it is because it embodies your original intent in its purest form.

Well done Teech and a great testament to those who died in a world that forgets all too easily.

Thank you for responding, MnP. I'm not sure purpose outweighing delivery is okay though, in a tribute poem. If it's done poorly enough, it could easily become its own tragedy. I felt like it was important to say the name of each dead child- because saying names changes the dimension of people. It must, or those who have lost someone they love wouldn't have so much trouble saying his/her name after the death.

The main website for the circus fire has very few accounts on it. People just don't talk about it. It was nearly 30 years before another circus was allowed to come here, and almost 50 years before an in-depth book was written.

This is meant to be spoken. But if it isn't right, I won't speak it.

For me, I liked the use of names. Using names can be very powerful.

Circuses happen to be one of my obsessions, among many. And the horror of circus fires is such a visceral image to write about. For some reason this piece read to me like a news paper clipping instead of a poem. I expected something that would grab me harder around the throat. The final line with the unknown infant did that a bit, but I suppose that I needed some more build up, drama. Maybe, some of this can be solved with placing the names differently on the page. Did you experiment with that at all?

Also, I found the familial titles a little heavy handed. A little too much hammering the relationships, we understand that circuses are filled with families. I personally needed the drama and wonder of the circus more at the beginning to underline the shock of the fire. Circuses weren't merely a break from boredom back at that time. Adults and children alike were awed by the spectacle. Unlike modern times, there were sights in a circus that people had never experienced before. That tent would have been filled with folks prepared and awaiting the unexpected. I imagine that some for a moment thought the fire was part of the show. So although you gave me the story I wanted something more. I wanted awe.

I hope that helps a bit. I know my critique was light on specifics, but I suppose it was the feeling of the piece that I was addressing more than anything. Also, if the poem is doing its job then you would not need the intro. The poem itself should give us what we need to know.

i am saddened that so many children died in this fire and i can easily imagine the horror from your account, teech. that said, i have to agree with Mayo - it felt more of an article about the fire than a poem. a list on names would be powerful in both cases.

i don't know what makes a poem a poem. my gut feeling tells me that just describing the event is not working for a poem as it is now. if mine, i'd have all these kids sitting in the tent the night before the performance, watching a rehearsal, and only in the end i'd say they all died in the fire of 1944. or something like that.

Cool. Thanks Mayo and B. What each of you had to say has been very helpful. In my defense, this was the poem that was interrupted (and derailed) after S2 by a stupid conversation with a stupid person...lol.

I think I did want, originally, to simply tell the story quietly and incorporate the names into that story. Most of the rest of country doesn't know it. But now it's told, perhaps you're right, it is time to make this a "piece." Mayo, I tried sprinkling the names individually around, but in the end, decided to keep them in threes for the 3 rings of the circus.

Thanks for some excellent thoughts.

A., the title pulled me into this poem; I read it a few times, and came to the conclusion the names don't work; distract from a sad but compelling story poem.

You don’t “come from” this city
without knowing the story of the day
Hell came to Hartford. Everyone knows
someone who knew someone who was there.

With Daddies and husbands at work or war,
the mothers and aunts of hot, bored,
summer children gathered and took them
to the circus.

Lions and clowns and high-wire acts
performed for a crowd six thousand thick.
Little fingers became sticky with spun sugar,
brothers threw popcorn at girls.

Mothers and aunties of sweaty, excited
children sighed in the heat, their dresses
clinging to the backs of their legs
on their seats. The children clapped

when the band played a song
reminding them of their fathers
and when someone’s mother yelled
“FIRE!” no one could have understood

how many would live, and how many
would die. Within the first five minutes,
women were dropping their babies
through the bleachers, or hurling them

over the animal cages blocking half the exits.
Imagine the crush, the trampling in the next
five minutes as it began raining fire on their
clothes and heads, hair, skin and eyes.

When the stays gave way, the big top crashed
down on families who loved each other,
and strangers alike. It took ten minutes.
They found bodies bonded together.

The flames did not lick gently but devoured the air,
and ate aunties, grandmas and unknown mothers.

J.

J- thanks for the suggestion and the time invested in a rewrite. After a whole Sunday afternoon wasted trying to force those names into the piece, I came around and saw another way to work it. I have typed the names and ages on strips of paper to be handed out at a reading. People will have a name(or names) in their hand to look at as the poem is being read. I purposely wrote sibilings names on separate pieces to represent how siblings became separated.

I did it for a couple of classes, and although I realize they were just kids, it turned out to be very effective. One class even insisted on reading the names aloud. Also reworked several stanzas.

Mayo and B- Closer?

You don’t “come from” this city
without knowing the story of
the day Hell came to Hartford
because everyone knows someone
who knew someone
who was there.

From Lakeville to Putnam
hot, bored, summer children
counted down the days.
“I’m going to the circus!”
“There’s elephants there, you know!”

Lions and clowns and highwire acts
performed for
a crowd 6,000 thick,
while little fingers
became sticky with spun sugar,
their brothers threw popcorn
at girls.

Mothers and aunties of
sweaty, excited children
hissed,“For the hundreth time,
willyoupleasesitDOWN?”
then sighed,
their dresses clinging
to the backs of their legs
on their seats.

While ice cold Cokes
were handed down the rows,
fire gnawed impatiently
at the canvas until
it became the seam,
until it became the wall itself,
until they understood
that they may be hurt,
until they understood
they may die,
until the ushers could not hold them back.

Within the first 5 minutes,
women were dropping their babies
through the bleachers,
or hurling them
over the animal cages
blocking half the exits.

Imagine the crush,
the trampling
in the next 5 minutes
as it began raining fire
on their clothes
and heads
and hair
and skin
and eyes.

When the stays gave way
the big top crashed down on
families who loved each other,
and strangers alike.
It took ten minutes.
Organs boiled. Heads exploded.
Hearts turned to mush,
They found bodies bonded together.

The flames did not lick gently
but devoured the air and ate
Aunties, and Grandmas
and the mother of
(Unknown, infant).

it's still too telling, i think. if storytelling is the intent, you accomplished it well. the gruesome details certainly will leave an impression. you may want to revisit the last stanza - you already described what fire did to the body parts in the stanza before, so "the fire did not lick gently" may not be needed there.

If this is a spoken word piece, I feel that the names of the dead could be recited quietly and rhythmically by someone standing quietly behind or next to the poet. I am seeing this going on simultaneously with the reader of the poem. That would be effective, imo.. I also think the word 'screaming' should be worked in somewhere, as it gives a picture in itself. "Imagine the SCREAMING, the trampling, the crush" paints a more vivid picture, to me. I do like the second version better. Remember, in the original version, you needed a paragraph, just to explain what the poem was going to be about! You rarely find it necessary to do that, in your work that I have read. This is going to turn into a lovely piece. I do think the names need to be read or recited, you choose. I like it! Gail. PS "Organs boil. Heads exploded"??? Should be omitted, not very subtle. You are already making your point, and....EEEEWWWwwww! Can't wait to see what you come up with.

You don’t “come from” this city
without knowing the story of
the day Hell came to Hartford
because everyone knows someone--->I would delete "because"
who knew someone
who was there.

From Lakeville to Putnam
hot, bored, summer children
counted down the days.
“I’m going to the circus!”
“There’s elephants there, you know!”---->this is something "off" about this line. I would suggest reworking it.

Lions and clowns and highwire acts
performed for
a crowd 6,000 thick,
while little fingers--->again, i would ditch "while"
became sticky with spun sugar,
their brothers threw popcorn---->the fingers' brothers? I might ditch "their" and write "boys"
at girls.---->and I might add a descriptor in front of girls, to get a feeling of what they were "about".

Mothers and aunties of
sweaty, excited children
hissed,“For the hundreth time,
willyoupleasesitDOWN?”--->I like this very much
then sighed,
their dresses clinging
to the backs of their legs--->something about these last two lines that reads awkward.
on their seats.

While ice cold Cokes
were handed down the rows,
fire gnawed impatiently
at the canvas until
it became the seam,
until it became the wall itself,
until they understood
that they may be hurt,
until they understood
they may die,
until the ushers could not hold them back.---->very nice stanza. works well.

Within the first 5 minutes,---->unnecessary line.
women were dropping their babies---->make these lines more active...i.e. "dropped" instead of "dropping" etc.
through the bleachers,
or hurling them
over the animal cages
blocking half the exits.

Imagine the crush,
the trampling
in the next 5 minutes--->these time references are distracting to the action of the poem. make up feel the moment or the pause of time instead.
as it began raining fire--->The fire rained
on their clothes----> scratch "their"
and heads
and hair
and skin
and eyes.

When the stays gave way
the big top crashed down on
families who loved each other,---->Is "who loved each other" needed?
and strangers alike.
It took ten minutes.---->again, the time thing
Organs boiled. Heads exploded.--->love these two lines
Hearts turned to mush,
They found bodies bonded together.---->Bodies bound together, feels more active to me, less like a newspaper article.

The flames did not lick gently
but devoured the air and ate
Aunties, and Grandmas
and the mother of
(Unknown, infant).----->this last stanza does not work for me. Maybe this is the time to put in the numbers of dead, bring back the "reporting" aspect, the "after-the-fact", wrapping back to the beginning and the survivors in Hartford.


This is just a first edit suggestion. Take or leave as usual.

I like the idea of names and there still might be a place for them in this piece, but after the other part is cleaned up a bit, in my opinion.

hope all is well, and if for some reason i don't see your edit again you know where to find me.

In that stanza about the animal cages, maybe bringing forward the blocked exits might help us feel the desperation of the women tossing their babies, which is a powerful image btw.

Thank you B., bff, and Mayo. Chewing on it all.

Thank you for the education, Teech, I've been wanting to comment. When I first saw your post I read about this fire on and off through the day. Googling pictures, Charles Nelson Reilly's comments (the actor who was there as an 11-year-old boy), the picture of Emmit with his bucket of water, etc. Also, the burn survivors and the then tortuous methods for treating their skin and the disfigurement they lived with. And people literally killing others so they could escape from under the inferno. And this quote:

"Emmett Kelly Sr. said the noise was 'like beaten dogs.'" Others described it as an eerie wailing." It's said, Teech, that that description was pretty close from the survivors as they listened to the dying and drowning from the Titanic.

Two things really caught my attention, one of them Donald Anderson, the 13-year-old boy who happened to have his jackknife. He was later honored as a hero as he slashed several holes in the tarp so people could escape. If a boy had a knife like that today they'd lock him up. If Donny didn't have his knife many more would have perished.

And the Ringling Bros. waterproofing for the tarp, not a favorite method. But materials were exhausted from the war so they could only work with what they had. It reminds me of New Orleans when Katrina hit. The much-needed levees were stopped because the state of Louisana gave millions to the "war effort" under the Bush regime as they invaded Iraq. That state handed over equipment as well. When their city was and did flood, they had next to nothing.

And the melting wax from the big top falling like napalm. I would have preferred being trampled to death. And Charles said he could act on stage but could never again sit with an audience, the memory from that horrific day was still too much.

Thank you for an eye-opening poem.

Wow! Very intense info you got there, I am sure Andrea already knew so much of this, that this is why it was so difficult to fit into a poem.You found some great poetic lines there, scriptum. Andrea, makes me think that this topic could use more than one poem! Interesting...

I read the original and must say that I like the rewrite better. The names were kind of distracting to me. As someone mentioned, they may be smoothly worked in if the poem is recited, but just reading them on the screen doesn't do it for me.

The poem has an excellent opening. The line breaks don't always make a whole lot of sense to me, but overall they seem to work. The beginning of stanza 5 is good, but I don't really like the "until they understood" business. In both Stanza 6 and 7, "5 minutes" is mentioned. I don't think specifying a time is necessary, or perhaps it should just be more vague. It does leave an impression to know that it only took ten minutes, but it feels kind of weird in the lines. I really like the first four lines of stanza 8, but the gruesome details don't seem to add to the poem. The ending is very strong.

There's definite progress from original to re-write. I like the poem as a whole; I had no idea about the event before reading your post.

Scriptum, it's nice to see that the poem inspired you to pursue information on your own. You might want to check out Stuart O'Nan's book "The Circus Fire". He is a local author, and the first one to write a detailed, in depth book on the topic. (Wasn't until the 90's). It's one to keep you up at night. btw- did the poem work for you?

Bff, I was trying to get my mom to talk about it on Sunday, (her mother lost one of her closest friends in the fire, and my mother a schoolmate), and she just didn't want to. No one with a direct connection ever does. Weird. But if you're a native of Hartford, you know plenty, without even doing research. (although I did read O'Nans book years ago.) I am considering doing a series. Look up "Little Miss 1565." Another weird story that came out of the fire.

Heera, thank you for the detailed response. The line breaks come from the plan of this being a spoken word piece.

butterflyzrfree wrote:

Wow! Very intense info you got there, I am sure Andrea already knew so much of this, that this is why it was so difficult to fit into a poem.You found some great poetic lines there, scriptum. Andrea, makes me think that this topic could use more than one poem! Interesting...

Yes, she seems to have emerged herself in that tragedy. I couldn't get it out of my mind that day. The OKC bombing only had one more casualty than this fire; with such a loss of life, especially kids, I'd think I should have heard about it at some point.

And you're right, it's an undertaking for poetry. But thanks to her I got educated.

HSTeech wrote:

Scriptum, it's nice to see that the poem inspired you to pursue information on your own.

When I read your poem I was stunned. I thought, huh???

HSTeech wrote:

You might want to check out Stuart O'Nan's book "The Circus Fire". He is a local author, and the first one to write a detailed, in depth book on the topic. (Wasn't until the 90's). It's one to keep you up at night.

I will read his book.

HSTeech wrote:

btw, did the poem work for you?

I'm in agreement with removing the victims' names though it's clear you felt for each one individually. Yes, it works but someone mentioned it being more of a narrative, if that's what you want.

If it were me writing this in prose or poetic form, I'd crawl inside the body of Donny and see what he saw. Or any number of the survivors whether family or an employee of the circus. Or, a nurse in attendance, a scene at the burn unit --- there's lots of angles. Even a Mother fanning herself on her porch and seeing the black smoke rising, then rushing to the carnage. Or as someone pinned below the stampede to bottle-neck exits.

HSTeech wrote:

... No one with a direct connection ever does. [talks about it] Weird.

The silence is deafening.

HSTeech wrote:

Look up "Little Miss 1565." Another weird story that came out of the fire.

Yes, the little girl mystery, very sad. And didn't I catch something about "no photographs allowed", or they wouldn't let reporters really report the scene? Although there are photos available. Horrible.

Scriptum, and Teech: This really IS a fascinating horror. One less that the OK bombing? OMG! this really needs to be publlisized. I am all in for a series, Andrea, and you are just the woman to do that. you are good at that, I won't mention the "rain' series, which you claim to be seven, but I think it is more. Scriptum has great ideas about different angles, points of view that would greatly personalize the piece, tho some information would be lost from an out side view?

butterflyzrfree wrote:

... that would greatly personalize the piece...

See, now I go blahblahblah and you sum it up. To personalize it, yes.

Thanks all, for the response and discussion. This is the last edit. I hope it's tolerable. I'm probably going to read it at GPLive tomorrow nite...

You don’t “come from” this city
without knowing the story of
the day Hell came to Hartford
because everyone knows someone
who knew someone
who was there.

From Lakeville to Putnam
hot, bored, summer children
counted down the days.
“I’m going to the circus!”
“I’m going to see elephants, you know!”

Lions and clowns and highwire acts
performed for
a crowd 6,000 thick,
little fingers
became sticky with spun sugar,
and brothers threw popcorn
at girls.

Mothers and aunties of
sweaty, excited children
hissed,“For the hundreth time,
willyoupleasesit DOWN?”
then sighed in the July heat,
their thin summer dresses
clinging uncomfortably to their backs
against the rickety wooden seats.

But while ice cold Cokes
were handed down the rows,
fire gnawed impatiently
at the canvas until
it became the seam
until it became the wall itself,
until they understood
that they may be hurt,
until they understood
they may die,
until the ushers could not hold them back

No one stayed calm
because half the exits were blocked
by animal chutes
and because their children
were going to die, going to die
this afternoon at the circus.
Women dropped their babies
through the bleachers,
or hurled them
into the arms of strangers
who might get them
over the cages to safety .

Imagine the crush,
the trampling
as it began raining fire
on their clothes
and heads
and hair
and skin
and eyes.

When the stays gave way
the big top crashed down on
families and strangers alike.
It took ten minutes.
Organs boiled. Heads exploded.
Hearts turned to mush,
They found bodies bonded together.

The elephants didn't see it.
They had been turned away
from the horror.

Excellent! Perfect edit! Still don't like the line "organs boiled, head exploded" but it is not my poem. Otherwise, a lovely (if this could be lovely) job! You are a fantastic poet hands down! Gail

You're going to be brilliant. Really nice, Teech.