Roams the woodlands

& then he roams the woodlands 
As happy as a moth on summers nights 
Now pausing thro the brambles prickly twine 
Where midnight lingers in the leafy mine 
& now thro smooth barked hazels mellow green 
That leave a pleasant open spot between 
Thro flowers & grass & many crippled brake 
Then garden clumps as nature wills to make 
Where oft he stands & pauses & admires 
& feels that happiness that never tires 
Now marking little tiny creeping things 
Creep on the leaves & then the coloured wings 
Of startled moth & eager butter flye 
That puzzled in the leaves & by & bye 
Mounts in the oaks & then the open sky

(Fragment)

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One eternal green

Far spread the moorey ground a level scene

Bespread with rush & one eternal green

That never felt the rage of blundering plough

Though centurys wreathed springs blossoms on its brow

Still meeting plains that stretched them far away

In uncheckt shadows of green brown & grey

Unbounded freedom ruled the wandering scene

Nor fence of ownership crept in between

To hide the prospect of the following eye

lts only bondage was the circling sky
One mighty flat undwarfed by bush & tree

Spread its faint shadow of immensity
& lost itself which seemed to eke its bounds

In the blue mist the orisons edge surrounds

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Hovel

The towering willow with its pliant boughs 
Sweeps its grey foliage to the autumn wind 
The level grounds where oft a group of cows 
Huddled together close or propped behind 
An hedge or hovel ruminate & find 
The peace as walks & health & I pursue 
For natures every place is still resigned 
To happiness new lifes in every view 
& here I comfort seek & early joys renew

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Victims of want

 

Quoted at the Tolpuddle festival in Dorset some years ago:

     "Inclosure came and trampled on the grave  

     Of labour's rights and left the poor a slave … 

     And birds and trees and flowers without a name 

     All sighed when lawless law's enclosure came."

Even 200 years later,  without any doubt Clare is as relevant as ever.  Here are the lines from his 1820 collection "Poems Descriptive of Rural Life and Scenery" that his publisher had expunged from the book in the Second and subsequent editions, much to Clare's annoyance:

     "Accursed wealth oer bounding human laws
     Of every evil thou remains the cause
     Victims of want those wretches such as me
     Too truly lay their wretchedness to thee
     Thou art the bar that keeps from being fed
     & thine our loss of labour & of bread
     Thou art the cause that levels every tree
     & woods bow down to clear a way for thee "

‘Accursed Wealth’ – those two words echo down the generations for any student of Clare, whether scholar or simply a reader of the great poet’s work.  Right from the early poems that have come down to us, we find in Clare an honesty that is often painful to observe.

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Pleasure unawares

Now sudden as a pleasure unawares 
 
A wooden plank strides oer a little brook 
 
That unto thirst the sweetest boon prepares 
 
Paved oer with pebbles to the very brink 
 
& so invitingly its waters look 
 
Though not a thirst it urges us to drink 
 
Then comes a sloping hill & whats beyond 
 
We stray to look & find a little pond

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Hopes golden rays

This scene how beautious to the musing mind 
That now swift slides from my enchanted view 
The sun sweet setting yon far hills behind 
In other worlds his visits to renew 
What spangling glories all around him shine 
What nameless colours cloudless & serene 
Rich heavenly colours brightest in decline 
Atend his exit from this lovley scene 
So sets the Christians sun in glories clear 
So shines his soul at his departure here 
No clouding doubts nor misty fears arise 
To dim hopes golden rays of being forgiven 
His sun sweet setting in the clearest skies 
In safe assurance wings the soul to heaven

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A young Rosie

Tho fine provd the morning O sad provd the ramble
Adown by the Willows adown by the lee

Adown by the cottage where Hedge rows of bramble
Hides it from all strangers but unlucky me
For there I espied and admird a young rosie
I lovs & had hopes in possesing the flower
Till Cupid flew laughing away with the posie
& left me the thorns which I feel at this hour

O Willows & brambles—what deamon beset me
To make me to go where your cottage arose
Yet still was you all I could hope to forget ye
But o theres no hopes in forgetting the rose
The wounds are not lightly that abscence should ease em
No no they’re so deep twill but poison the pain
Tho lifes sober autumn may wisely appease em
A pang sad Remembrance will ever retain

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Late swallows

But little lingerers old esteem detains
Ye haply thus to brave the chilly air
When skies grow dull with winter's heavy rains
& all the orchard trees are nearly bare
Yet the old chimneys still are peeping there
Above the russet thatch where summers  tide
Of sunny joys gave you such social fare
As makes you haply wishing to abide
In your old dwelling through the changing year.
I wish ye well to find a dwelling here,
For in the unsocial weather ye would fling
Gleanings of comfort through the winter wide
Twittering as wont above the old fireside
& cheat the surly winter into spring

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Autumn Robin

Sweet little bird in russet coat

The livery of the closing year
I love thy lonely plaintive note
& tiney whispering song to hear
While on the stile or garden seat
I sit to watch the falling leaves
The songs thy little joys repeat
My lonliness relieves

& many are the lonely minds
That hear & welcome thee anew
Not taste alone but humble hinds
Delight to praise & love thee too
The veriest clown biside his cart
Turns from his song with many a smile
To see thee from the hedgerow start
To sing upon the stile

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The Wild Deer

Theres suns in the dew blebs 
Like diamonds they shine 
Theres beads on the cobwebs 
& the thorn is divine 
With the dews o' the e'ening 
& gems o' the morning 
The ilka leafs leaning 
Wi' natures adorning 
The muircock is whirrin 
The patrich is scraitchin 
The bum-clock is burrin 
& the wild deer is reaching

The moss by the burn side 
Then hieing away 
When near him the churn cried 
& the mist curdled grey

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Exquisite delight

Ah just as well as if but yesternight 
I do remember on that self-same hill 
I dropt me down with exquisite delight
The very hawthorn bush is standing still 
From whence I sought a twig of blooming may 

& stuck it to my bosom when at rest
Oh twas a lovely eve the lambs at play 
Scampt round and round the hill & in the west 
The clouds of purple and of crimson dye 

Were huddled up together in a heap
& oer the scented wide worlds edge did lie 
Resting as quiet as if lulled to sleep

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Light in golden

What mellowness these harvest days unfold 
In the strong glances of the midday sun 
The homesteads very grass seems changed to gold 
The light in golden shadows seems to run 
& tinges every spray it rests upon 
With that rich harvest hue of sunny joy 
Nature lifes sweet companion cheers alone— 
The hare starts up before the shepherd boy 
& partridge coveys wir on russet wings of joy

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Dark days

The dark days of Autumn grows cloudy and rainy
The sun pales like sulphur the shadows grow long
To me the dull season the sweetest of any
I love to see yellow leaves fall in my song
The rush covered green and thistle capped mountain
The dead leaves a falling and winds singing round
The willow and ash leaves they choak up the fountain
There's health i' the strife o't and joy i' the sound
I love there to loiter wi' winds blowing round me
Till the strong eddies past and the rain gust is over
Wild pigeons fly over the instance looks downy
With [stunt] willow rows [and] pieces of clover
Brown pieces o' stubbles ground o' turnips bright green
The crows flying over the lakes silver light
Scarce a wild blossom left to enliven the scene
Rauk and mist are for ever in sight

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Waking like spirits

Like to a painted map the landscape lies
& wild above shine the cloud thronged skies
The flying clouds urged on in swiftest pace
Like living things as if they runned a race
The winds that oer each coming tempest broods
Waking like spirits in their startling moods
Fluttering the sear leaves on the blackning lea
That litters under every fading tree
& pausing oft as falls the patting rain
Then gathering strength & twirling them again
Till drops the sudden calm the hurried mill

Is stopt at once & every noise is still
The startld stockdove hurried wizzing bye
As the still hawk hangs oer him in the sky
Crows from the oak trees quawking as they spring
Dashing the acorns down wi beating wing

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Universal Death

Strange, reading my Chapbook No.9 'The Gothic John Clare" - somehow I feel Clare speaking of the disastrous Climate Change policy of most of the world's governments - a wringing of hands and not much else.  Already we are seeing the results of many decades of idle chatter and no coherent change to protect the environment.  Clare of course wrote this long poem about 'judgement' but perhaps that is not far from what awaits our childrens childrens children?

Fierce ragd destruction sweeping oer the land

& the last counted moment seemd at hand

As scales near equal hang the earnest eyes

In doubtful balance which shall fall or rise

So in the moment of that crashing blast

Eyes hearts & hopes pausd trembling for the last

& sudden thunder claps with yawning rents

Gashd the frail garments of the elements

& bursting wirlwinds wingd in purple flame

& lightnings flash in stronger terrors came

Burning all life & nature were they fell

& leaving earth as desolate as hell

The pleasant hues of woods & fields was past

& natures beautys had enjoyd their last

The colord flower the green of field & tree

What they had been forever ceasd to be

Grass shriveld brown in miserable hues

& showers of fire dryd up the hissing dews

Leaves crumbld ashes in the airs hot breath

& all awaited universal death

The sleeping birds scard from their mossy nest

Beat through the evil air in vain for rest

& many a bird the withering shades among

Wakend to perish oer its brooded young

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Oer the heath

Here oft though grass & moss are seen 

Tannd brown for want of showers 

Still keeps the ling its darksome green 

Thick set with little flowers 

& yonder mingling oer the heath 

The furze delights to dwell 

Whose blossoms steal the summers breath 

& shed a sultry smell 

Here threatning ploughs have tried in vain 

To till the sandy soil 

Yon slope already sown with grain 

Shows nature mocks the toil

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Alehouses

Twas by the road but I've forgot 
Th'name o' the place where it was at 
But does'n't matter where

Being rather faint for want o' drink
(Yet not so sadly off for chink)
I went to ha' some beer

On entering in a house at hand
(As alehouses do mostly stand
To catch all passers by)

I told my wants & sat me down
'Gen two near neighbours o' the town
A talking very sly

At which so eager o' my beer
I first ga' little heed to hear
Untill I 'gan to see

Some queerish beckons come in vogue
& hear the name o' thief & rogue
& then a look at me 

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Mist like moister

The sun now sinks behind the woodland green 
& twittering spangles glow the leaves between 
So bright & dazzling on the eye it plays 
As if noons heats had kindld to a blaze 
But soon it dims in red & heavier hues 
& shows wild fancy cheated in her views 
A mist like moister rises from the ground 
& deeper blueness stains the distant round 

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Heath & Plain

Tracked the red fallow field & heath & plain
Or sought the brook to drink & roam again
While the glad shepherd traced their tracks along
Free as the lark & happy as her song
But now alls fled & flats of many a dye 
That seemed to lengthen with the following eye
Moors losing from the sight far smooth & blea
Where swopt the plover in its pleasure free
Are banished now with heaths once wild & gay 
As poets visions of lifes early day

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Dire Nakedness

But now alas my charms are done 
For shepherds & for thee 
The cow boy with his green is gone 
& every bush & tree 
Dire nakedness oer all prevails 
Yon fallows bare & brown 
Is all beset wi' post & rails 
& turned upside down
The gentley curving darksom bawks 
That stript the Cornfields oer 
& provd the Shepherds daily walks 
Now prove his walks no more 
The plough has had them under hand 
& over turnd 'em all 
& now along the elting Land 
Poor swains are forcd to maul

bawks = narrow strip of grass between ploughed strips

elting = damp, new ploughed soil

maul = plod with difficulty

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A heavy wet

I'm joining John Clare... "Letter to Henry Behnes, Dec 29 1828

“… as for me I have no amusement but looking over my few books by the fireside or walking out into the fields & thinking about my friends – I have drunk your health often Harry over heavy wet..."

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Old green lane

The spreading oak at the lane end 
Was neer so green and bright 
Nor the thorn so sweet in that lone glen 
As they were that sunday night 
The sun it set & lowly dropt
Yet gold clouds did remain 
& though the singing birds are stopt 
I love the Old green lane 
The beaten path went winding on 
The bushes lookd so green 
The leveret it went scouting on 
& nothing else was seen

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The river sweeping

Now came the river sweeping round the nooks 
By thirsty summers pilgrimage subdued 
Dark & yet clear the glassy water looks 
As slow & easy in majestic mood 
It sweeps along by osier crowded glen 
Untill it winds an almost naked flood 
Along the flats of the wooded fen 
Yet even there prolific summer dwells 
& garnishes its sides in vivid green 
Of flags & reeds the otters pathless den

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Living death

Abscence in love is worse than any fate
Summer is winters desert & the spring
Is like a ruined city desolate
Joy dies & hope retires on feeble wing
Nature sinks heedless birds unheeded sing.
‘Tis solitude in cities crowds all move
Like living death though all to life still cling
The strongest bitterest thing that life can prove
Is womans undisguise of hate & love

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