John Clare

Major Works

“I am—yet what I am, none cares of knows;
My friends forsake me like a memory lost: —
I am the self-consumer of my woes.”

John Clare (1793 – 1864), a lately recognized major poet of the Romantic period, was an untrained farm laborer from rural Northhamptonshire, England. His Major Works are fraught with nature, but nature idealized, abstracted, and, at times, sentimental.

Where the dark ivy the thorn-tree is mounting,
Sweet shielding in summer the nest of the dove,
There lies the sweet spot, by the side of the fountain,
That’s dear to all sweetness that dwells upon love:
For there setting sunbeams, ere even’s clouds close ’em,
One stretch’d a long shadow of one I adore;
And there did I meet the sweet sighs of a bosom
Of one ever dear, tho I meet her no more.

john clare major works
English countryside, Sussex. Photograph by Ellen Vrana.

Clare saw his countryside reshaped, cultivated, and changed by the hands of humans. He lived during the British Enclosure Acts; common land was walled and divided to create private farms. Throughout his poetry, Clare projected a deep longing for something past.

From “Helpstone”:

Oh, happy Eden of those golden years
Which memory cherishes, and use endears,
Thou dear, beloved spot! may it be thine
To add a comfort to my life’s decline.

For most of his adult life, Clare suffered from depression—”harassed by perpetual bother,” he called it, according to historian Robin Lane Fox.1

The last two decades of his life, John Clare was confined in a mental hospital and wrote, arguably, his best poetry. His lamentation of things lost—nature, horizons, childhood—are a veiled stand-in for the ultimate loss that those of us harassed by depression know all too well: first self, then life.

So when the traveller uncertain roams
On lost roads leading every where but home
Each vain desire that leaves his heart in pain
Each fruitless hope to cherish it in vain
Each hated track so slowly left behind
Makes for the home which night desires to find
And every wish that leaves the aching breast
Flies to the spot where all its wishes rest

Reading Clare and comparing his 19th-century vantage point (clean, unbounded common land) to modern agricultural scapes (separated, divided, but nonetheless beautiful) inspired my rumination on walls as well as a look at The Importance of Walking About.

John Clare - Major Works
“John Clare” by British portrait artist William Hilton. Painted in 1820 when Clare was twenty-seven.

A stout companion to Clare’s works is Robert Macfarlane’s The Old Ways, a book that meditates on the intersection of paths and humans throughout the British Isles. Or Thomas A. Clark’s “In Praise of Walking,” a slim prose/poem that says everything considerable there is to say about roaming.

Additionally, the work of Cumbrian sculptor Andy Goldsworthy, who builds structures that “can take the quality of a design in the landscape,” provides a very interesting counterpoint to the interaction of human structures and nature (that we need not disappear into it).

wall
Storm King Wall, New York, 1997. “The most compressed part of the wall, where the trees grow closest together, is the heart of the sculpture, and the place where there is the most tension.” Photograph by Andy Goldsworthy.

I wish these two could meet and dialogue: what Clare might say about Goldsworthy’s walls, what might Goldsworthy say about Clare’s need for uninterrupted, unblemished, non-humanized landscape.