John Clare

John Clare Biography

John Clare was an English poet, the son of a farm labourer, who came to be known for his celebratory representations of the English countryside and his lamentation of its disruption. His poetry underwent a major re-evaluation in the late 20th century and he is often now considered to be among the most important 19th-century poets. His biographer Jo ...

John Clare Comments

Tod Mcgrath 05 December 2005

John was a living legend although I thought he herded animals better than he wrote poems but that just my opinion and am a big fan of his labouring background this guy was a living legend but ermm he died...... Ermmm yeh go john! and as im a keen cannibal i would love to have a bite ov him if he was still alive but now hes dead the meat doesnt taste as fresh...... TOD MCGRATH......

51 129 Reply
Louise Birkhead 13 March 2005

JOHN CLARE FOR PRESIDENT OF THE UNITED STATES! ! ! !

64 85 Reply
ghcgv 09 January 2018

he was a rubbish poet

3 32 Reply
an anonymous guy in 3D 24 November 2018

sup lads................................

3 4 Reply
vanessa molton 15 March 2021

thank u it showed me beauty where i could find none and was the catalyst for me to explore litreature

0 0 Reply
vanessa molton 15 March 2021

i found tgia poem in jail.

1 0 Reply
selina li 20 September 2021

what were you in for

0 0 Reply
Trinity 17 March 2020

I like this poem

1 0 Reply
wayne bone 24 June 2019

wanye west approves this poem

4 0 Reply
Basiruddin 12 February 2019

School work

3 2 Reply

The Best Poem Of John Clare

I Am

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 with shadows tost

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;
And e'en 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 smil'd 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.

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John Clare Popularity

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