#johnclare

Una Mas, John Clare

Vibe of a hot Latin track by trumpet player Kenny Dorham

Closing lines of John Clare's sonnet, 'Nature'.

~

Evenings breath just trembling thro the bush

& then again dies calm and all is hush

O how I feel just as I pluck this flower

& stick it to my breast words can't reveal

But there are souls that in this lovely hour

Know all I mean and feel whate'er I feel

~

Some lines drawn from the closing phase of 'February' (from John Clare's 'The Shepherd's Calendar', 1827).

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He refers to February as the month of "mocking weather".....

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Thus nature of the spring will dream

South winds thaw but soon again

Frost breaths upon the stiffening stream

& numbs it into ice - the plain

~

Soon wears its merry garb of white

& icicles which fret at noon

Will grow their icy tails at night

Beneath the chilly stars & moon .....

~

...Nature soon sickens of her joys

And all is sad and dumb again

Save merry shouts of sliding boys

About the frozen furrows plain.....

~

From 'February' (1827), in which John Clare calls February the month of "mocking weather".

~

This is the beginning of my poetic response to reading John Clare’s  lovely poem, ‘July’, from The Shepherd’s Calendar. It’s rough and ready, but at least it is taking on an outline shape. I was struck by the difference between the noise of his evening July open field and the silence of our small enclosed garden.

Our fence-rimmed evening garden sits

In honeyed summer light

No movement, save a butterfly

In startling frantic flight

A small and lovely silent garden

Gently rippling breeze

Patch of clover-covered grass

Beneath the sculptured trees

So different to this morning

When I visited John Clare:

He shared his Shepherd’s Calendar -

Alligator Ponds, John Clare

I rarely have any idea what I'm painting as I work on a canvas. On this occasion I was listening to reggae music (the Gladiators). Only later did I realize this was a river I'd swum in aged 18 in Jamaica, unaware that it was inhabited by alligators until I saw them in the lagoon near the beach. Thus a memory became conscious in the act of painting. A few weeks later, my nephew walked into the studio and said, "Hey, that's Alligator Ponds!"