The programme reminded me of the life of a poet from the 1800's called John Clare. Recently I was asked to contribute to an anthology on the healing power of words. I chose a poem of Clare's for the collection and explain the reasons why below:
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 shades in love and death's oblivion lost;
And yet I am! and live with shadows tost
Into the nothingness of scorn and noise,
Into the living sea of waking dreams,
Where there is neither sense of life nor joys,
But the vast shipwreck of my life's esteems;
And e'en the dearest--that I loved the best--
Are strange--nay, rather stranger than the rest.
I long for scenes where man has never trod;
A place where woman never smil'd or wept;
There to abide with my creator, God,
And sleep as I in childhood sweetly slept:
Untroubling and untroubled where I lie;
The grass below--above the vaulted sky.
This poem by the “almost forgotten” poet, John Clare, strikes at my soul! I often read it to myself as a means of enabling my Mum’s voice to cry out to me. I imagine the rest of the world hearing loud and clear simply that she existed.