Judy Collins: Send in the Clowns
This is Judy Collins singing “Send in the Clowns.” I loved this song the first time I heard it many years ago, and I still love it today. It reminds me of the irony of the war on poverty. The perception that our government helps the poor is far from the reality.
When I think of the lyrics to this song I’m reminded of the isolation of impoverished children. I know this song isn’t written for poverty victims, but they do a good job of describing the problems of children in poverty.
Within the profundity of those lyrics is a conundrum, thus far unanswered. When the poor attempt to enter the middle class world,–why aren’t they greeted, where are the clowns? Isn’t it a farce?
Impoverished children want the same things as middle class children, but the doors don’t open for them, as they do for children in the mainstream society. And, if by chance they knock on the doors of the middle class, there is no one there to accept them.
If poor children are brave enough to persevere, they struggle from the view of the ground, while the middle class floats in mid air.
Isn’t it rich, itsn’t it queer, knowing that the life they wanted was already yours. It’s sad but true, they fear the rejection by the middle class is their fault. They thought you’d want what they wanted. Sorry to bother you my dear.
You have the privilege of social mobility, while the poor are stuck in familiar neighborhoods. Well, if they can’t make it today, then maybe next year.
Enjoy Judy Collins in this YouTube segment. You can read the lyrics below as she sings:
Isn’t it rich?
Are we a pair?
Me here at last on the ground,
You in mid-air.
Send in the clowns.
Isn’t it bliss?
Don’t you approve?
One who keeps tearing around,
One who can’t move.
Where are the clowns?
Send in the clowns.
Just when I’d stopped>
opening doors,
Finally knowing the one that I wanted was yours,
Making my entrance again with my usual flair,
Sure of my lines,
No one is there.
Don’t you love farce?
My fault I fear.
I thought that you’d want what I want.
Sorry, my dear.
But where are the clowns?
Quick, send in the clowns.
Don’t bother, they’re here.
Isn’t it rich?
Isn’t it queer,
Losing my timing this late
In my career?
And where are the clowns?
There ought to be clowns.
Well, maybe next year.
