John Clare is one of my favourite poets and I often feel that he is overlooked and relatively unheard of outside of academic circles. And this is a biJohn Clare is one of my favourite poets and I often feel that he is overlooked and relatively unheard of outside of academic circles. And this is a bit of a tragedy, just look how few ratings he has here on Goodreads!
Unlike the other romantics, he did not achieve much fame in his lifetime. He was relatively unknown and spent a large part of his life in a mental asylum. He wrote much of his poetry very close to where I live; he wondered the fields here almost two hundred years ago and was at a loss when he saw the landscape declining, to be replaced by enclosed agriculture. He captured the essence of nature in his words as he lamented the death of a rural England. He celebrated the natural world and the animals, writing passionately against a world undergoing great change as the populations grew and the landscape began to modernise.
One thing Clare did do better than the other romantics poets was really explore the animal kingdom. He didn’t just write about nightingales; he used so many birds and woodland life in his works. He was a real advocate of nature; you could tell he’d spent so much time observing it and admiring it. Had he been alive today he would have been an activist or an environmental campaigner or perhaps even a naturalist. His writing captures much of his intense interest and fixation on the lives of other creatures. His words give them a voice.
Notably, Clare taught himself how to read; he wasn’t educated like the rest of the romantics. He had a massive disadvantage. He learnt to write poetry by copying the style of his peers; he adapted it and made it his own, and eventually he developed his own poetic voice. Is this not something to admire? Clare was a shepherd, not a scholar or a literary critic or a pompous Lord. The early romantics advocated oneness with nature; surely, out of the crowd Clare is the one with the most experience. He lived the rural life from the beginning, and his poetry reflects it so blatantly. He did not need to imagine what it was to be one with landscape.
So consider this review a recommendation, a recommendation to pick up a volume of Clare’s poetry and to see exactly what he does so well. He writes politically against natural injustice and the corrupt taking control of the land; he captures the beauty of animals, of birds and foxes and badgers. His words are a literary monument which capture the essence of romanticism: he had a wonderful mind.
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The Lost Spells is a celebration of the natural; it is a collection of prose poetry about foxes and trees and birds and rabbits and flowers: it is an The Lost Spells is a celebration of the natural; it is a collection of prose poetry about foxes and trees and birds and rabbits and flowers: it is an elegy to what we are losing and what we must try to retain.
It’s educational; it’s a book we should give to our children and to our adults to help them see the sense of wonder that is outside, and its captured perfectly though the power of words and the beautiful illustrations.
I write these words as our green spaces are reducing, as more land is given over to housing and native animal populations plummet even further and perhaps even into memory itself. I wonder what the world will be like in fifty years. I wonder if the only way people can learn about the natural world is through books rather than observing her directly. Sure, there might be reserves, or isolated pockets, but I think one day there will be nothing natural left about modern life (if there is, indeed, anything natural about it now.)
I loved this book; it’s a book I will revisit and a book I will encourage others to read because despite increasing decline and modernisation, the natural world is still on our doorstep: she is still there if we are willing to look and to appreciate her. Lets make an effort to understand her magic and (better yet) keep it alive.
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Do not go gentle into that good night, Old age should burn and rave at close of day; Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Isn’t it so pDo not go gentle into that good night, Old age should burn and rave at close of day; Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Isn’t it so powerful and inspiring? Can you not feel the power of the message? It’s a simple one, one we should all heed. Do not go gentle, do not go easy, do not give up, fight until the very end. I find it truly uplifting. When death is upon us, stay strong and fight as the light fades.
And I see two forms of light dying here. The first is our own light and mortality. The second is the light of the world. We must always stand against injustice and, in essence, become the light itself to insure hope never fades.
"Though wise men at their end know dark is right, Because their words had forked no lightning they Do not go gentle into that good night.
Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay, Rage, rage against the dying of the light."
The poem is also a shout, an angry outburst against the injustice of life. All life dies. Our “creator” has deemed it so. The poem, in a sense, is a rage against this. It is a bold statement that suggests, although the inevitable is coming, we don’t necessarily have to embrace it with open arms. We cannot conquer death, but that doesn’t mean we have to go gentle into that final goodnight. We can spit in its face and struggle for every last heartbeat.
"Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight, And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way, Do not go gentle into that good night.
Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay, Rage, rage against the dying of the light."
If our lives have no impact, and our words have left no memories or influence over others, then the struggle for life becomes harder because nothing of us will remain. And that is why we must insure that our words do, indeed, fork some "lightning."
We must not waste our lives and we need to realise this before it is too late.
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This is a great collection of poetry that makes fun of life, poking at it and laughing at some of its glaring stupidity.
In these pages is a sense of This is a great collection of poetry that makes fun of life, poking at it and laughing at some of its glaring stupidity.
In these pages is a sense of rebellious adulthood, a voice that is not quite at terms with where it has reached. And this voice spoke to me because this voice understood that although we may continue to age, we still ultimately feel the same inside. We get older, but we are still a culmination of earlier versions of ourselves. We grow as people but never change completely. Younger versions always speak to us even though they are lost. They remind us of where life could have gone and how different it may have been.
There is a strong sense of drifting, through time and memory to come to terms with the present. And it’s a present that doesn’t cease laughing. Loss dominates a lot of the poems, but it’s not a defeating loss. It’s more about accepting loss, coming to terms with it, and moving forward and making sense of its place in the world and our lives. Whether that be loss of a relationship, one’s youthful hope or a moment in time witnessed through the window of a train. Understanding loss is understanding life.
And it's all a true pleasure to read. Creative and deliberate, lyrical and playful, The Somnambulist Cookbook explores exactly what it is to be human in a world that seems to have forgotten.
I recommend it highly!
The book can be purchased directly from Salt here....more
When, in disgrace with fortune and men’s eyes, I all alone beweep my outcast state, And trouble deThis is my favourite Shakespeare sonnet:
Sonnet 29
When, in disgrace with fortune and men’s eyes, I all alone beweep my outcast state, And trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries, And look upon myself and curse my fate, Wishing me like to one more rich in hope, Featured like him, like him with friends possessed, Desiring this man’s art and that man’s scope, With what I most enjoy contented least; Yet in these thoughts myself almost despising, Haply I think on thee, and then my state, (Like to the lark at break of day arising From sullen earth) sings hymns at heaven’s gate; For thy sweet love remembered such wealth brings That then I scorn to change my state with kings.
The poetry is beautiful. It is so sad and full of melancholy, as the speaker laments his place in life and the greed of the state. He is poor and miserable whilst Kings exist in luxury and splendour. Heaven doesn’t answer. God doesn’t care. The speaker is depressed as a lack of money is associated with a complete lack in richness of feeling and attitude. Emotional bankruptcy is the feeling the sonnet captures with such splendour. And I love it.
But then, to make it better, it reverses in on itself in the final few lines. The speaker remembers his love and conquers his jealously. He remembers his love for his “state” which is a pun on the idea of nation. He remembers his love for his king and his lord and realises that such wealth will not bring the fulfilment he seeks. In these few lines is a powerful journey, a journey of discovery and truth. It’s an incredible piece of writing.
And here's a version of it sung by the very talented Rufus Wainwright: Sonnet 29
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So that’s my favourite sonnet and there’s many beautiful examples in here of how incredible poetry can be. Simply put, it doesn’t really get any better than this.
"Farewell to Middle-earth at last. I see the Star above my mast!”"
This is a touching little poem written by Tolkien in the guise of Bilbo himself a"Farewell to Middle-earth at last. I see the Star above my mast!”"
This is a touching little poem written by Tolkien in the guise of Bilbo himself as he prepared to leave middle-earth via the Grey Havens into the west. It’s like a final goodbye, a drawing of the curtain, to Tolkien’s vast and beautiful fantasy world.
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It’s very short, and it’s very simple because it’s a song. It’s also available online for free and it’s not hard to find, but what makes this edition really special are the illustrations. I love having it on my bookshelf, though I think for many it will be a little superfluous....more
This was immensely interesting to read, though I found myself somewhat aggravated by the passivism that ran through the writing.
It's almost like a poThis was immensely interesting to read, though I found myself somewhat aggravated by the passivism that ran through the writing.
It's almost like a poetical treatise on humility, but what of ambition and a drive to make the world a better place? Should we all accept our station in life and never aim to improve? I think not. It accepts things as they are (however they are) and cannot conceive of a better future. Everything should stay the same, and exist within the natural order of things.
But how do we define the natural?
VI
The Spirit of the valley never dies This is called the mysterious female. The gateway of the mysterious female Is called the route of heaven on earth. Dimly visible, it seems as if it were there, Yet use will never drain it.
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The poem speaks of mother nature as replenishing and everlasting; she will always endure and is the gateway to heaven on earth, to our own nirvana. We can never completely spend her. The metaphor is for the path as Taoism and nature are one and the same here. For the speaker, Taoism (or the way) is the most natural of things we can partake in. We will also never drain the benefits of it and they will also last perpetually. And these ideas for me felt strong and real, but the writing also muses over empire.
XXIX
Whoever takes the empire and wishes to do anything to it I see will have no respite. The Empire is a sacred vessel and nothing should be done to it. Whoever does anything to it will ruin it; whoever lays hold of it will lose it. Hence some things lead and some follow; Some breath gently and some breathe hard; Some are strong and some are weak; Some destroy and some are destroyed. Therefore the sage avoids excess, extravagance and arrogance.
I take so much issue with this quote. In what way can we ever refer to an Empire as natural? Empire's are always built with the blood of someone else. The quote also shows how people are all different, though it concludes that this is simply the way of things. A weak person should not try to make himself strong. Such a thing is an excess. We should simply stay humble and never challenge the norms of an Empire. (Seriously?)
And that's when I stopped listening to what the book had to say. As an historical piece it's interesting to study, but I take absolutely no stock in the words....more
How many of you have even heard of Marianne Moore?
I'm genuinely curious on this point because I hadn't until last week. Her relative obscurity (at leHow many of you have even heard of Marianne Moore?
I'm genuinely curious on this point because I hadn't until last week. Her relative obscurity (at least here in the UK) is a bit of a shame because she has an important voice in the world of poetry.
Her poetry is unusual and it’s very hard to understand because of the multiple voices she uses and constant quotation that runs through the work. It’s very difficult to discern an overall direction of her poems because more often than not, the longer pieces, present opposing opinions. It’s almost like the poetry is in conversation with itself, demonstrating different point of views on a particular topic without giving any of them any particular weight or prominence. So it feels circular at times and contradictory and its unlike anything I have ever read before.
“... we do not admire what we cannot understand.”
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There is no “I” within her poems. There is no poet who has a powerful opinion or is subjecting the world to their all-consuming emotions. There is simply observation, detached and levelled. Moore reports what she sees but offers no comment.
Marriage
"This institution, perhaps one should say enterprise out of respect for which one says one need not change one's mind about a thing one has believed in, requiring public promises of one's intention to fulfill a private obligation"
On reading this it would seem the poem is a feminist statement against the patriarchy and the trappings of marriage, though the poem concludes very differently. It’s like she has fixed on one singular theme, marriage, and has done all she can to show everything marriage can be from the good to the bad, from the warmth to the life sentence. It’s almost like Imagist poetry but with conversational elements. And it’s quite unique.
I think what hampered her development was her isolation. Whereas Pound, T.S Eliot and Williams were in conversation with each other, Moore wrote alone. She didn’t have the same strong literary circle to help hone her ideas. She wrote alone and spent her life living with her mother (rumour has it that they even shared a bed into adulthood and until her mother’s death.) Moore never married and remained a solitary figure throughout her entire life, though she was fiercely independent and functional in her loneliness. Though the real hampering was her confidence: she never new how clever she was. And she didn’t really consider herself worthy of being called a poet.
Well she is worthy. Her peers recognised it and tried to get her published long before she was brave enough to actually put her work out there. Her voice is worth hearing....more
“Farewell, farewell, for what it’s worth From the final hedgehog left on earth."
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I love Hedgehogs. And like most of the natural world, they “Farewell, farewell, for what it’s worth From the final hedgehog left on earth."
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I love Hedgehogs. And like most of the natural world, they are totally inept at surviving in the modern environment. They fall down drains or drown in garden ponds, they get run over by cars or stuck in garden fences. They starve to death or die of thirst because of the extreme heat caused by global warming.
They are not made for the modern space: they are not made for the world we have altered. So it’s up to us to help them. We can cut holes in our fences and cover up our ponds. We can leave water out for them and drive more carefully. We can, collectively, do our very best for the declining wildlife of Britain (or for whatever wildlife your country has.) It’s not really hard to make a difference, small acts go a very long way and it can be a matter of life or death for something so small and harmless.
We need to act before we have nothing left, before we destroy everything. So many species have gone extinct just because of our presence on Earth. So this is a rather effective piece of poetry. It’s instructional, but it’s also very practical. I’d love to see poetry like this read in schools and taught to children. It’s an important issue, and this is a very creative way of carrying it across. It goes beyond just one animal, but reminds us of what should be our role in nature: that of a caretaker.
The illustrations are colourful and sit with the text perfectly. The two work together to impart a very important message. Please don't forget about it.
“A man either is or is not a great poet, that is not within his control, it is the lightning from heaven, the “fire of the gods,” or whatever “A man either is or is not a great poet, that is not within his control, it is the lightning from heaven, the “fire of the gods,” or whatever you chose to call it.”
Pound is a tremendously important literary figure from the 20th century and he certainly was a great poet. His own work helped to revolutionise poetry in the new age. He borrowed aspects from ancient Chinese and Japanese verse and infused it with own imagist principles to create a new style of poetry, a product of east meeting west, it’s poetry written in English but it depicts eastern content as well as mimicking its stylistic qualities.
Here’s the poem he is best known for:
In a Station at the Metro
The apparition of these faces in the crowd: Petals on a wet, black bough.
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The first time I saw this poem was during the first year of my English degree. I was baffled by it and came to the conclusion that because of its simplicity we cannot call it poetry. It’s easy to dismiss, and a few of Pound’s contemporary critics even slammed into it terribly. However, I think it’s a really significant piece of writing. I was, of course, very wrong the first time I read it.
Pound valued word economy. If a word did not add to the poem then it was superfluous, an unnecessary extension. He cut this poem down and edited it (it was originally 36 lines long) until he was left with the bare bones of the image he wanted to construct. And that’s the entire point of modernist poetry: the image. It’s poetry without narrative or any sense of authorial direction. It captures a moment in time free from metaphor or allegory. It is simple, precise but nevertheless pertinent; it is driven by aestheticism in its most clean and basic form. Take from it what you will.
This edition collects Pound’s earliest writing which is often his most experimental and also a little inconsistent. In some of the poems he has not quite discovered his voice and he is still learning his craft. His later pieces, and his Chinese collection Cathay, are amongst his best work along with The Cantos.
I will be reading and reviewing many of his works on here over the next year or so because I’m writing on him for my master’s dissertation. There’s a lot to say about his work and how influential it was on other writers. More Pound for me!...more
The first time I saw this book in a Goodreads feed I thought it was actually serious, if but for a minute, and I was genuinely flabbergasted at the coThe first time I saw this book in a Goodreads feed I thought it was actually serious, if but for a minute, and I was genuinely flabbergasted at the concept. This book can’t be for real. Poetry? Trump? No, you're having a laugh.
And thankfully Rob Sears is.
He’s pieced together all manner of quotes from Trump over the years. Quotes from twitter, from television interviews and radio broadcasts, it’s all come together to form a rather random bunch of poetry. And some of them are gold.
“I won! Well, we’ve had some disasters, but this is the worst”
So this is a good way to spend thirty minutes laughing at the horrifyingly stupid nature of the man who has, somehow, become president of the United States. And all the quotes are sourced back to thier orginal material- this is all the real deal here (unfortunately he did say all these things!) though they've been twisted a little and put out of context which only highlights his stupidity further....more
"In a past life I was mistakenly a poet In a former existence I must have been a painter Unable to throw off my remnant habits."
I’ve been reading "In a past life I was mistakenly a poet In a former existence I must have been a painter Unable to throw off my remnant habits."
I’ve been reading a lot of Chinese poetry in translation lately. I’m in the early stages of researching my Master’s dissertation; I will be looking at how twentieth century western writers appropriated Chinese poetry and brought it into the modern world. Wang Wei is one of the best poets I’ve come across and he exemplifies the forms I will be discussing.
There’s a certain simplicity in his words that is thoroughly deceptive. Chinese poetry is bare and precise. The language appears commonplace and ordinary. It does not feel like an overflow of feelings or passion: it is discreet. Yet, for all that, it carries with it a certain persuasive power.
The poetry of Wang Wei is very much driven by descriptions of nature. Regardless of what’s happening in the world, whether it’s war or a woeful departure, nature remains a beautiful inspiration. Nothing can change that for him, as he marches on, as he plods through life, the splendour of nature remains. Like so:
On Leaving the Wang River retreat
“At last I put my carriage in motion Go sadly out from these ivied pines Can I bear to leave these blue hills? And the green stream – what of that?”
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It’s deceptively simple. These four lines carry so much meaning. The narrator is leaving, but that doesn’t matter. The reasons for his departure aren’t important. The real world isn’t important. The issues are small and perhaps petty when faced with such glory. His surroundings here mean more to him, in this instance, than the whole of mankind combined. Leaving the purity of the ivied pines behind is a lamentable loss. Walking away from the blue hills, the hills of stability, of intelligence and of heaven itself is no easy departure. They represent much. It’s all about the colours. The sky and the sea are both blue, as are these symbolic hills. And the stream, the green stream, that represents oneness with nature that is the hardest of all to walk away from. The line “at last I put my carriage in motion,” says it all. The reluctance is palpable. Simple language is the key.
It would remiss though to dub Wang Wei a nature poet. Such a thing ignores the mystical and spiritual elements to his writing. Much of it was driven by love and loss, by the sorrows of human existence. And he copes with such things rather well, as such there are echoes of Buddhist philosophy across his writing. For example:
Suffering from the heat
My thoughts went out to the world To somewhere utterly alone Far winds came from a thousand miles Rivers and seas washed impurities away Now I realized the body is the affliction At last I knew, my mind has never awakened Here is the way to Nirvana, the gate To pass though the joy of purity.
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The words suggest a certain separation the physical world, to the world of possession and objects. They recognise the impermanence of physical sensation, and that overcoming such an obstacle is the final hurdle on the road to enlightenment: to nirvana.
Wang Wei is an excellent poet, and his words are moving. They are driven by isolation, loneliness and will to reconcile with the natural order of things....more
Sean Barrs
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