Wednesday, October 01, 2008


My favorite poem, all the more powerful when you know that he wrote it while confined in a lunatics asylum, where he spent most of his life.


I am: yet what I am none cares or knows,
My friends forsake me like a memory lost;
I am the self-consumer of my woes,
They rise and vanish in oblivious host,
Like shades in love and death's oblivion lost;
And yet I am, and live - like vapors tossed

Into the nothingness of scorn and noise,
Into the living sea of waking dreams,
Where there is neither sense of life nor joys,
But the vast shipwreck of my life's esteems;
Even the dearest, that I loved the best,
Are strange - nay, rather stranger than the rest.

I long for scenes where man has never trod;
A place where woman never smiled or wept;
There to abide with my creator, God,
And sleep as I in childhood sweetly slept:
Untroubling, and untroubled where I lie,
The grass below - above the vaulted sky.

John Clare

Makes me wonder wht I would write if I were in the looney-bin. Maybe I would just fling poop at visitors.

1 comment:

jennifergriffin said...

What an awesome poem...I've never heard it before! Please...don't throw poop! I won't come see you if you do.