A book review and some poems

[bookaddict43]

Well it's poetry month in the US anyway and I've just finished reading an excellent book...

As a poetry lover I'm often worried by the fact that people don't read or write it like they used to.

Maybe if they read this book An Ode Less Travelled by actor, comedian and author Stephen Fry, they might.

He says in his introduction he doesn't intend this to be a text book. In my opinion it should be. He covers all the techniques required for both reading and writing poetry in an interesting and exciting way, and in a much more readable form than a boring textbook. He makes poetry accessible and possible for everyone with the examples and clear explanations.

The book got me thinking about some of the poetry that sticks in my brain. It's a weird conglomeration I can tell you. So tonight I'm posting a couple of Australian poems beloved by my father and which I can still recite word for word...

This poem proves that some things never change. I think I heard the same conversation only yesterday at work

Said Hanrahan

"We'll all be rooned," said Hanrahan,
In accents most forlorn,
Outside the church, ere Mass began,
One frosty Sunday morn.

The congregation stood about,
Coat-collars to the ears,
And talked of stock, and crops, and drought,
As it had done for years.

"It's looking crook," said Daniel Croke;
"Bedad, it's cruke, me lad,
For never since the banks went broke
Has seasons been so bad."

"It's dry, all right," said young O'Neil,
With which astute remark
He squatted down upon his heel
And chewed a piece of bark.

And so around the chorus ran
"It's keepin' dry, no doubt."
"We'll all be rooned," said Hanrahan,
"Before the year is out."

"The crops are done; ye'll have your work
To save one bag of grain;
From here way out to Back-o'-Bourke
They're singin' out for rain.

"They're singin' out for rain," he said,
"And all the tanks are dry."
The congregation scratched its head,
And gazed around the sky.

"There won't be grass, in any case,
Enough to feed an ass;
There's not a blade on Casey's place
As I came down to Mass."

"If rain don't come this month," said Dan,
And cleared his throat to speak -
"We'll all be rooned," said Hanrahan,
"If rain don't come this week."

A heavy silence seemed to steal
On all at this remark;
And each man squatted on his heel,
And chewed a piece of bark.

"We want an inch of rain, we do,"
O'Neil observed at last;
But Croke "maintained" we wanted two
To put the danger past.

"If we don't get three inches, man,
Or four to break this drought,
We'll all be rooned," said Hanrahan,
"Before the year is out."

In God's good time down came the rain;
And all the afternoon
On iron roof and window-pane
It drummed a homely tune.

And through the night it pattered still,
And lightsome, gladsome elves
On dripping spout and window-sill
Kept talking to themselves.

It pelted, pelted all day long,
A-singing at its work,
Till every heart took up the song
Way out to Back-o'-Bourke.

And every creek a banker ran,
And dams filled overtop;
"We'll all be rooned," said Hanrahan,
"If this rain doesn't stop."

And stop it did, in God's good time;
And spring came in to fold
A mantle o'er the hills sublime
Of green and pink and gold.

And days went by on dancing feet,
With harvest-hopes immense,
And laughing eyes beheld the wheat
Nid-nodding o'er the fence.

And, oh, the smiles on every face,
As happy lad and lass
Through grass knee-deep on Casey's place
Went riding down to Mass.

While round the church in clothes genteel
Discoursed the men of mark,
And each man squatted on his heel,
And chewed his piece of bark.

"There'll be bush-fires for sure, me man,
There will, without a doubt;
We'll all be rooned," said Hanrahan,
"Before the year is out."

Around the Boree Log and Other Verses, 1921
**********

This one I had to learn for school, but it still sticks in my head. Especially when I've been out of the country for awhile

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 a sunburnt country,
A land of sweeping plains,
Of ragged mountain ranges,
Of droughts 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 ringbarked forests,
All tragic to the moon,
The saphire-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 heart, around us,
We see the cattle die -
But when the grey clouds gather,
And we can bless again
The drumming of an army,
The stealthy 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.

Comments

[xx-squish-xx.livejournal.com]

This has nothing to do with poetry, but Stephen Fry was on Bones the other week and boy howdy, but he hasn't aged nearly as well as Hugh Laurie.

Um, but the poetry is nice. Maybe I'll get ambitious and type up a favorite poem tonight. maybe.

[bookaddict43.livejournal.com]

He was? I haven't seen him in anything for ages...

Go on do it!! *enables* The world needs more poetry.

[elsibet34.livejournal.com]

Very nice. It's always a pleasure to get a peek at someone's favorite poems. :)

[ceslas.livejournal.com]

Thank you!!!!!! I couldn't resist reading those out loud. My two dogs sat and listened with such enraptured attention that I credit the Aussie burr that cannot help but creep in when such words are writ for keeping their focus so pure. >:0)