• Poem sharing

  John Clare

  Posted by Euan Duncan on February 12, 2025 at 9:25 pm

  Has anyone encountered the 19th C. poet John Clare? The “inclosure acts” he was frustrated with strike me as a triumph of the left hemisphere – measuring, grasping, dividing; the subjugation of the natural world.

  The Fallen Elm

  Old elm that murmured in our chimney top
  The sweetest anthem autumn ever made
  And into mellow whispering calms would drop
  When showers fell on thy many coloured shade
  And when dark tempests mimic thunder made –
  While darkness came as it would strangle light
  With the black tempest of a winter night
  That rocked thee like a cradle in thy root –
  How did I love to hear the winds upbraid
  Thy strength without – while all within was mute.
  It seasoned comfort to our hearts’ desire,
  We felt that kind protection like a friend
  And edged our chairs up closer to the fire,
  Enjoying comfort that was never penned.
  Old favourite tree, thou’st seen time’s changes lower,
  Though change till now did never injure thee;
  For time beheld thee as her sacred dower
  And nature claimed thee her domestic tree.
  Storms came and shook thee many a weary hour,
  Yet steadfast to thy home thy roots have been;
  Summers of thirst parched round thy homely bower
  Till earth grew iron – still thy leaves were green.
  The children sought thee in thy summer shade
  And made their playhouse rings of stick and stone;
  The mavis sang and felt himself alone
  While in thy leaves his early nest was made,
  And I did feel his happiness mine own,
  Nought heeding that our friendship was betrayed,
  Friend not inanimate – though stocks and stones
  There are, and many formed of flesh and bones.
  Thou owned a language by which hearts are stirred
  Deeper than by a feeling clothed in word,
  And speakest now what’s known of every tongue,
  Language of pity and the force of wrong.
  What cant assumes, what hypocrites will dare,
  Speaks home to truth and shows it what they are.
  I see a picture which thy fate displays
  And learn a lesson from thy destiny;
  Self-interest saw thee stand in freedom’s ways –
  So thy old shadow must a tyrant be.
  Thou’st heard the knave, abusing those in power,
  Bawl freedom loud and then oppress the free;
  Thou’st sheltered hypocrites in many a shower,
  That when in power would never shelter thee.
  Thou’st heard the knave supply his canting powers
  With wrong’s illusions when he wanted friends;
  That bawled for shelter when he lived in showers
  And when clouds vanished made thy shade amends –
  With axe at root he felled thee to the ground
  And barked of freedom – O I hate the sound
  Time hears its visions speak, – and age sublime
  Hath made thee a disciple unto time.
  – It grows the cant term of enslaving tools
  To wrong another by the name of right;
  Thus came enclosure – ruin was its guide,
  But freedom’s cottage soon was thrust aside
  And workhouse prisons raised upon the site.
  Een nature’s dwellings far away from men,
  The common heath, became the spoiler’s prey;
  The rabbit had not where to make his den
  And labour’s only cow was drove away.
  No matter – wrong was right and right was wrong,
  And freedom’s bawl was sanction to the song.
  – Such was thy ruin, music-making elm;
  The right of freedom was to injure thine:
  As thou wert served, so would they overwhelm
  In freedom’s name the little that is mine.
  And there are knaves that brawl for better laws
  And cant of tyranny in stronger power
  Who glut their vile unsatiated maws
  And freedom’s birthright from the weak devour.

  John Clare

  Euan Duncan replied 1 week, 3 days ago 1 Member · 0 Replies
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