John Clare

John Clare (13 July 1793 – 20 May 1864) 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 Jonathan Bate states that Clare was "the greatest labouring-class poet that England has ever produced. No one has ever written more powerfully of nature, of a rural childhood, and of the alienated and unstable self".

Read more about John ClarePoetry, Revival of Interest in The Twentieth Century, Poetry Collections By Clare (chronological), Works About Clare (chronological)

Other articles related to "john clare, clare":

The Quince Tree Press - Small Books - Poets
... But there are also at least two editions of different poems of John Clare, both of which used the same photograph of a bronze bust of Clare on the cover ... No numbered editions of the poems of William Blake or John Clare have been seen, which were two of the first three titles, but a later edition of the poems of Andrew Marvell is numbered 3. 99 John Clare ...
I Am (poem)
... I Am (or Lines I Am) is a poem written by John Clare in late 1844 or 1845 and published in 1848 ... It was composed when Clare was in the Northampton General Lunatic Asylum (commonly Northampton County Asylum, and later renamed St Andrew's Hospital), isolated by his mental illness from his ... scheme for the second and third, details Clare's finding of a sanctuary from the travails of his life in the asylum by reasserting his individuality in ...
John Clare - Works About Clare (chronological)
... Martin, Frederick ... The Life of John Clare.' 1865 ...

Famous quotes containing the words clare and/or john:

    I hid my love when young till I
    Couldn’t bear the buzzing of a fly;
    I hid my life to my despite
    Till I could not bear to look at light:
    I dare not gaze upon her face
    But left her memory in each place;
    Where’er I saw a wild flower lie
    I kissed and bade my love good-bye.
    —John Clare (1793–1864)

    The kind of scientist who has no room for faith in his universe is rather old-fashioned nowadays.
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