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In this episode of Elixir, Helen is talking to Richard about a section of ‘The Shepherd’s Calendar’, ‘April’ and ‘I am’ by John Clare (1793 - 1864).
Topics:
John Clare’s keen eye for detail (which got him in fights)
Richard’s Dad’s passing: the poem means so much to him since his Dad requested verses of Clare be read at his funeral.
The struggle in John Clare’s life: mental health, romance, alcoholism
Richard’s Dad and Clare came from the same place.
Themes of Spring and the countryside
Text of the poems:
The Shepherd’s Calendar – April by John Clare
The seasons beautys all are thine
That visit with the year
Beautys that poets think divine
And all delight to hear
Thy latter days a pleasure brings
That gladden every heart
Pleasures that come like lovley things
But like to shades depart
Thy opend leaves and ripend buds
The cuckoo makes his choice
And shepherds in thy greening woods
First hears the cheering voice
And to thy ripend blooming bowers
The nightingale belongs
And singing to thy parting hours
Keeps night awake with songs
With thee the swallow dares to come
And primes his sutty wings
And urgd to seek their yearly home
Thy suns the Martin brings
And lovley month be leisure mine
Thy yearly mate to be
Tho may day scenes may brighter shine
Their birth belongs to thee
I waked me with thy rising sun
And thy first glorys viewd
And as thy welcome hours begun
Their sunny steps pursued
And now thy sun is on the set
Like to a lovley eve
I view thy parting with regret
And linger loath to leave
Thou lovley april fare thee well
Thou early child of spring
Tho born where storms too often dwell
Thy parents news to bring
Yet what thy parting youth supplys
No other months excell
Thou first for flowers and sunny skyes
Sweet april fare thee well.
https://allpoetry.com/The-Shepherds-Calendar---April
I Am! by John Clare
I am! yet what I am who cares, or knows?
My friends forsake me like a memory lost.
I am the self-consumer of my woes,
They rise and vanish, an oblivious host,
Shadows of life, whose very soul is lost.
And yet I am—I live—though I am toss'd
Into the nothingness of scorn and noise,
Into the living sea of waking dream,
Where there is neither sense of life, nor joys,
But the huge shipwreck of my own esteem
And all that's dear. Even those I loved the best
Are strange—nay, they are stranger than the rest.
I long for scenes where man has never trod,
For scenes where woman never smiled or wept;
There to abide with my Creator, God,
And sleep as I in childhood sweetly slept
Full of high thoughts, unborn. So let me lie,
The grass below; above the vaulted sky.
Copyright Credit: John Clare, "I am!" from The Life of John Clare. London: Macmillan and Company, 1865. Public domain.
Source: The Life of John Clare (Macmillan and Company, 1865)
About the poet:
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/John_Clare
