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
Thats dear to all sweetness that dwells upon love
For there setting sunbeams ere evens clouds close em
One stretchd a long shadow of one I adore
And there I did meet the sweet smiles of a bosom
Of one ever dear tho I meet her no more
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, something gone. From “Helpstone:”
Oh happy Eden of those golden years
Which mem’ry cherishes and use endears
Though dear beloved spot may it be thine
To add a comfort to my life’s decline
For most of his adult life, Clare suffered depression, “harassed by perpetual bother.” The last years of his life he lived 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 ope to cherish it in vain
Each hatred track so slowly left behind
Makes for the home which night denies 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, how they form, are made, where they exist and in particular, when do we notice them.
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.
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). 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.