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the cinnamon peeler's wife

10.24.2004 at 3:14:00 PM

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 shadows in love frenzied stifled throes
and yet i am, and live-like vapours tossed

into the nothingness of scorn and noise
into the living sea of waking dreams-
where there is neither sense of life or joy,
but the vast shipwreck of my life's esteems;
even the dearest that i love the best
are strange- nay rather stranger than the rest

i long for scenes where man hath never trod
a place where woman never smiled or wept
there to abide with my creator God
and sleep as i in my childhood sweetly slept
untroubling and untroubled where i lie
the grass below, above the vaulted sky.

-john clare

(british poet, clare (1793-1864), is best known for the amazing poems he wrote while in a mental asylum)

(this poem was one of my favorites in high school, when i think it expressed the angst of that age. later in college, this poem resurfaced when i had to interpret it in a one-woman act in a theater class (yeah don't ask). i just looked at it again today, thought i would share)

(if you are reading any of this- hating it, liking it, being bored by it- leave me a comment!)

Anonymous Anonymous said...

i'm currently in a mental hospital. but i'm getting better. i liked this poem in high school too. mayhaps we went to the same high school and had the same ap english teacher. or maybe i'm dead and you're alive.  

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Anonymous Anonymous said...

I agree with anonymous, although I don't trust people in asylums. I found the poem beautiful. My iMac, who I like to call Harv, thought the language was heavy but dramatic. GO BUCKS!!!!  

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Blogger Lunatic said...

it was a downer in high school and it still is. Give us something happy!!!!!  

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