It has been said of Clare’s lyrics, of which “I Am” is perhaps the greatest, that they possess “a penetrating simplicity which neither requires nor permits of analysis.” In a sense, this is true. “I Am” is a cry from the depths, an utterance of terrible sorrow passing into an imagined calm that is as deep and absolute. Part of its power is its perfect directness; it is not a confession so much as a prayer, and its language is unmarred by sentimentality or ornament. It is perhaps too profound for literary criticism and strains the limits of secular literature. What does cast light on the poem—as is not the case with many poems—is the author’s biography.
Clare was a man who crossed many boundaries. Son of a semiliterate father and a wholly illiterate mother, he began life in terrible poverty. His schooling was meager and brief, and his first poems were written on chance scraps of paper while he worked as a farmer or laborer. When a collection of these poems was published in 1820, he came to the attention of a sympathetic nobleman who helped raise an annuity for his support. For a time, Clare was a celebrity, a kind of “natural wonder,” appealing in his uncouthness to the current taste among intellectuals for primitive genius. The farmer’s son toured London and met the literati, but the “peasant poet” soon found himself on the outs again trying to sell his books door-to-door.
At this time, an unhappy love affair of...
(The entire section is 534 words.)