The Streets of Forbes

A somewhat indulgent choice - this is an anonymous poem about my home town and the bushranger Ben Hall.  The Book of Australian Popular Rhymed Verse has this in its Sadness and Sorrow section.

THE STREETS OF FORBES

ANON

Come all you Lachlan men, and a sorrowful tale I'll tell.

Concerning of a hero bold who through misfortune fell.

His name it was Ben Hall, man of good renown,

Who was hunted from is station, and like a dog shot down.

Three years he roamed the roads, and he showed the traps some fun;

A thousand pound was on his head, with Gilbert and John Dunn.

Ben parted from his comrades, the outlaws did agree

To give away bushranging and cross the briny sea.

Ben went to Goobang Creek, and that was his downfall;

For riddled like a sieve was valiant Ben Hall.

'Twas early in the morning upon the fifth of May

When the seven police surrounded him as fast asleep he lay.

Bill Dargin he was chosen to shoot the outlaw dead;

The troopers then fired madly, and filled him full of lead.

They rolled him in a blanket, and strapped him to his prad,

And led him through the streets of Forbes to show the prize they had.

Kenneth Slessor 1901 -1971

One of Australia's foremost modern poets - he has been able to capture in this poem the sense of small country towns in which many people spent their formative years. (For more information see http://adbonline.anu.edu.au/biogs/A160310b.htm?hilite=slessor )

'Country Towns'

Country towns with your willows and squares,

And farmers bouncing on barrel mares

To public-houses of yellow wood

With "1860" over their doors,

And that mysterious race of Hogans

Which always keeps General Stores . . .

At the School of Arts, a broadsheet lies

Sprayed with the sarcasm of flies:

"The Great Golightly Family" -

Of Entertainers Here To-night"-

Dated a year and a half ago,

But let there, less from carelessness

Than from a wish to seem polite.

Verandas baked with musky sleep,

Mulberry faces dozing deep,

And dogs that lick the sunlight up

Like paste of gold--or, roused in vain

By far, mysterious buggy-wheels,

Lower their ears, and drowse again . . . 

Country towns with your schooner bees,

And locusts burnt in the pepper-trees,

Drown me with syrups, arch your boughs,

Find me a bench and let me snore,

Till, charged with ale and unconcern,

I'll think it's noon at half-past four!

Dorothea Mackellar 1885-1968

'My Country' is an iconic Australian poem which romantically calls up images of the distinctive landscape and the strong sense of belonging that was felt by the poet.  It is one of the best-known poems in Australia and many Australians feel that it captures the essence of the country and the inhabitants' feelings towards the driest continent on Earth.  Dorothea Mackellar has said that she wrote this poem whilst on holidays in England after hearing some local English people comparing the two countries to the disadvantage of Australia.  She felt so "mad" that she sat down and wrote this poem. (Biographical details see http://adbonline.anu.edu.au/biogs/A100291b.htm)

'My Country'

The love of field and coppice,

Of green and shaded lanes,

Of ordered woods and gardens

Is running in your veins,

Strong love of grey-blue distance,

Brown streams and soft, dim skies --

I know but cannot share it,

My love is otherwise.

I love sunburnt country,

A land of sweeping plains,

Of rugged mountain ranges,

Of drought and flooding rains.

I love her far horizons,

I love her jewel-sea,

Her beauty and her terror --

The wide brown land for me!

The stark white ring barked forests

All tragic to the moon,

The sapphire-misted mountains,

The hot gold hush of noon.

Green tangle of the brushes,

Where lithe lianas coil,

And orchids deck the tree-tops

And ferns the warm dark soil.

Core of my heart, my country!

Her pitiless blue sky,

When sick at hear, around us,

We see the cattle die --

But then the grey clouds gather,

And we can bless again

The drumming of an army,

The steady soaking rain.

Core of my heart, my country!

Land of the Rainbow gold,

For flood and fire and famine,

She pays us back threefold --

Over the thirsty paddocks,

Watch, after many days,

The filmy veil of greenness

That thickens as we gaze ...

An opal-hearted country,

A wilful lavish land--

All you who have not loved her,

You will not understand --

Though earth holds many splendours,

Wherever I may die,

I know to what brown country

My homing thoughts will fly.

Deb Westbury - 1954 -

Deb Westbury was born in Wollongong in 1954 and has been a familiar and respected voice in Australian poetry since her work was first published in 1975. Her poetry has since been widely anthologised, including the Oxford Anthology of Women's Verse (edited by Susan Lever, 1995).
Deb was born and has spent most of her life on the NSW coast south of Sydney, developing a dual career as a writer and teacher - with an undergraduate degree in teaching and a Master of Creative Arts degree in writing. (See http://www.laterallearning.com/hsc/westbury.html)

The following poem is from Westbury's collection of poems - Mouth to Mouth.

Resist-dance

I'm the rain,

You the window

closed against me.

You come between

but I spit and dribble,

pound and deafen,

till, in the end, I loose my deluge

and distort your vision

of the outside

You resist me

but after each deluge

the timber of your small frame warps,

the cracks widen

between you and your walls,

and each small movement threatens

the glass with breaking.

A wonderful example of a simple, yet powerful extended metaphor.  Westbury has a strong connection to the landscape and environment around her.  Whilst this poem may not seem distinctly Australian, it comes from the distinctive feminist, Aussie voice of Deb Westbury.

Mudrooroo - Australian Aboriginal -1938-

Colin Johnson or Mudrooroo (born 1938) is an Australian author and poet known for his work involving Australian Aborigines. He is often considered the father of modern Aboriginal literature. (See Wikipedia.org for additional information.  http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mudrooroo)

His poems have been set for study in New South Wales schools and his poetry has a strong voice from the Aboriginal perspective dealing with the dispossession and injustice experienced since the European settlement of their land.

The following poem "A Righteous Day" was written to coincide with the  Bicentennial Celebrations in 1988 - which marked 200 years since White or European Settlement of Australia.  It was a controversial issue for many Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islanders who felt that this was not something to celebrate, but rather mourn.  The 26th of January is a public holiday in Australia, marking the landing of the First Fleet in Sydney Cove.  Since 1938 many politically active Aboriginals began to call it the Day of Mourning.

A Righteous Day

A lifetime of inventions sticky-taping a zipper into

A ballpoint pen filled with transistorised tunes

Protecting my wrists from the slashes of insecurities.

Today, I shall hold my head higher than

The kites are flying, swooping down on this

Today, I shall keep my violence passive in anger,

My voice shall be a steel spring coiled.

Today, I shall cut a smile into the provocation of insults.

Today, I shall walk tall with the leaders who walk on

Stilts and stumble as they greet me with cries of goodwill.

Today, I shall stand sober and high under the railway bridge

Echoing and resounding with the slap-slap of straight razors

Stropping on the skin of a year mourning bleeding.

Today, I shall let my fist be clenched in songs;

Today, I shall speech-give the essence of my truth;

Today, I shall be free of harassment and let my steps

Lead me away from the red and black along the golden path

Of the honeyed sunshining of my dreams.

Today, I shall find a will to be responsive to our needs.

For today, this day is our day and don't forget it!

'My bloody oath I won't, mate!'

(Sydney, 26 January 1988)