A Mountain Station

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1. Time Stands Still over Govandi Station A kite flutters, On a high tension wire – Against a stark blue sky. Beggar and old mother huddle On Govandi Railway Station – The dirtiest station in the universe. He shows her a plastic watch, Smiles, “See I have time,” She, old, gnarled, wrinkled, Looks through beady eyes, “I have no need for time.” […]...
2. Filling Station Oh, but it is dirty! this little filling station, Oil-soaked, oil-permeated To a disturbing, over-all Black translucency. Be careful with that match! Father wears a dirty, Oil-soaked monkey suit That cuts him under the arms, And several quick and saucy And greasy sons assist him (it’s a family filling station), All quite thoroughly dirty. Do […]...
3. The Gundaroo Bullock Oh, there’s some that breeds the Devon that’s as solid as a stone, And there’s some that breeds the brindle which they call the “Goulburn Roan”; But amongst the breeds of cattle there are very, very few Like the hairy-whiskered bullock that they breed at Gundaroo. Far away by Grabben Gullen, where the Murrumbidgee flows, […]...
4. The Mountain Squatter Here in my mountain home, On rugged hills and steep, I sit and watch you come, O Riverinia Sheep! You come from the fertile plains Where saltbush (sometimes) grows, And flats that (when it rains) Will blossom like the rose. But when the summer sun Gleams down like burnished brass, You have to leave your […]...
5. A Tree Song (A. D. 1200) Of all the trees that grow so fair, Old England to adorn, Greater are none beneath the Sun, Than Oak, and Ash, and Thorn. Sing Oak, and Ash, and Thorn, good sirs, (All of a Midsummer morn!) Surely we sing no little thing, In Oak, and Ash, and Thorn! Oak of the […]...
6. At The Railway Station, Upways ‘There is not much that I can do, For I’ve no money that’s quite my own!’ Spoke up the pitying child A little boy with a violin At the station before the train came in, ‘But I can play my fiddle to you, And a nice one ’tis, and good in tone!’ The man in […]...
7. A Day At Union Station Departure At last, I’m leaving the familiar roof! I’m undeterred by rain and wind. This presentation should be quite a feather In my cap. Eager, I clutch my ticket. I’m going places. Not letting any grass Grow, not under these clever feet! Pigeons We admire one another’s tiny coral feet. Coooooo, coooooo under the roof. […]...
8. At the sixty-ninth station (after hiroshige – stations of oi) Here at the sixty-ninth station Of the gregokaido road I have a sense of completion That is not completed yet The long journey to this moment Has many disparate paths Fragments of people within me Have stuttered their broken mantras What a bowl of uneasy pieces Litters the well […]...
9. Myself can read the Telegrams Myself can read the Telegrams A Letter chief to me The Stock’s advance and Retrograde And what the Markets say The Weather how the Rains In Counties have begun. ‘Tis News as null as nothing, But sweeter so than none....
10. THE MOUNTAIN CASTLE THERE stands on yonder high mountain A castle built of yore, Where once lurked horse and horseman In rear of gate and of door. Now door and gate are in ashes, And all around is so still; And over the fallen ruins I clamber just as I will. Below once lay a cellar, With costly […]...
11. On Kiley's Run The roving breezes come and go On Kiley’s Run, The sleepy river murmurs low, And far away one dimly sees Beyond the stretch of forest trees Beyond the foothills dusk and dun The ranges sleeping in the sun On Kiley’s Run. ‘Tis many years since first I came To Kiley’s Run, More years than I […]...
12. With the Cattle The drought is down on field and flock, The river-bed is dry; And we must shift the starving stock Before the cattle die. We muster up with weary hearts At breaking of the day, And turn our heads to foreign parts, To take the stock away. And it’s hunt ’em up and dog ’em, And […]...
13. The Travelling Post Office The roving breezes come and go, the reed-beds sweep and sway, The sleepy river murmers low, and loiters on its way, It is the land of lots o’time along the Castlereagh. . . .. . . . . The old man’s son had left the farm, he found it full and slow, He drifted to […]...
14. Middleton's Rouseabout Tall and freckled and sandy, Face of a country lout; This was the picture of Andy, Middleton’s Rouseabout. Type of a coming nation, In the land of cattle and sheep, Worked on Middleton’s station, ‘Pound a week and his keep.’ On Middleton’s wide dominions Plied the stockwhip and shears; Hadn’t any opinions, Hadn’t any ‘idears’. […]...
15. Saltbush Bill on the Patriarchs Come all you little rouseabouts and climb upon my knee; To-day, you see, is Christmas Day, and so it’s up to me To give you some instruction like-a kind of Christmas tale – So name your yarn, and off she goes. What, “Jonah and the Whale”? Well, whales is sheep I’ve never shore; I’ve never […]...
16. How News must feel when travelling How News must feel when travelling If News have any Heart Alighting at the Dwelling ‘Twill enter like a Dart! What News must think when pondering If News have any Thought Concerning the stupendousness Of its perceiveless freight! What News will do when every Man Shall comprehend as one And not in all the Universe […]...
17. The Mountain Sprite In yonder valley there dwelt, alone, A youth, whose moments had calmly flown, ‘Till spells came o’er him, and, day and night, He was haunted and watch’d by a Mountain Sprite. As once, by moonlight, he wander’d o’er The golden sands of that Island shore, A foot-print sparkled before his sight ‘Twas the fairy foot […]...
18. Saltbush Bill Now is the law of the Overland that all in the West obey A man must cover with travelling sheep a six-mile stage a day; But this is the law which the drovers make, right easily understood, They travel their stage where the grass is bad, but they camp where the grass is good; They […]...
19. Saltbush Bill's Second Flight The news came down on the Castlereagh, and went to the world at large, That twenty thousand travelling sheep, with Saltbush Bill in charge, Were drifting down from a dried-out run to ravage the Castlereagh; And the squatters swore when they heard the news, and wished they were well away: For the name and the […]...
20. A Carol Our Lord Who did the Ox command To kneel to Judah’s King, He binds His frost upon the land To ripen it for Spring To ripen it for Spring, good sirs, According to His Word. Which well must be as ye can see And who shall judge the Lord? When we poor fenmen skate the […]...
21. The Mountain The mountain held the town as in a shadow I saw so much before I slept there once: I noticed that I missed stars in the west, Where its black body cut into the sky. Near me it seemed: I felt it like a wall Behind which I was sheltered from a wind. And yet […]...
22. Come-by-Chance As I pondered very weary o’er a volume long and dreary For the plot was void of interest; ’twas the Postal Guide, in fact There I learnt the true location, distance, size and population Of each township, town, and village in the radius of the Act. And I learnt that Puckawidgee stands beside the Murrumbidgee, […]...
23. Tube Station The tube lift mounts, sap in a stem, And blossoms its load, a black, untidy rose. The fountain of the escalator curls at the crest, breaks and scatters A winnow of men, a sickle of dark spray....
24. Autobiography At An Air-Station Delay, well, travellers must expect Delay. For how long? No one seems to know. With all the luggage weighed, the tickets checked, It can’t be long… We amble too and fro, Sit in steel chairs, buy cigarettes and sweets And tea, unfold the papers. Ought we to smile, Perhaps make friends? No: in the race […]...
25. A Letter from Home She sends me news of blue jays, frost, Of stars and now the harvest moon That rides above the stricken hills. Lightly, she speaks of cold, of pain, And lists what is already lost. Here where my life seems hard and slow, I read of glowing melons piled Beside the door, and baskets filled With […]...
26. The Ballad Of The Drover Across the stony ridges, Across the rolling plain, Young Harry Dale, the drover, Comes riding home again. And well his stock-horse bears him, And light of heart is he, And stoutly his old pack-horse Is trotting by his knee. Up Queensland way with cattle He travelled regions vast; And many months have vanished Since home-folk […]...
27. Friday Night At The Royal Station Hotel Light spreads darkly downwards from the high Clusters of lights over empty chairs That face each other, coloured differently. Through open doors, the dining-room declares A larger loneliness of knives and glass And silence laid like carpet. A porter reads An unsold evening paper. Hours pass, And all the salesmen have gone back to Leeds, […]...
28. The Last Parade With never a sound of trumpet, With never a flag displayed, The last of the old campaigners Lined up for the last parade. Weary they were and battered, Shoeless, and knocked about; From under their ragged forelocks Their hungry eyes looked out. And they watched as the old commander Read out to the cheering men […]...
29. Thompson's Lunch Room Grand Central Station Study in Whites Wax-white Floor, ceiling, walls. Ivory shadows Over the pavement Polished to cream surfaces By constant sweeping. The big room is coloured like the petals Of a great magnolia, And has a patina Of flower bloom Which makes it shine dimly Under the electric lamps. Chairs are ranged in rows Like sepia seeds […]...
30. 251. Impromptu Lines to Captain Riddell YOUR News and Review, sir. I’ve read through and through, sir, With little admiring or blaming; The Papers are barren Of home-news or foreign, No murders or rapes worth the naming. Our friends, the Reviewers, Those chippers and hewers, Are judges of mortar and stone, sir; But of meet or unmeet, In a fabric complete, […]...
31. The Sheep The Sheep adorns the landscape rural And is both singular and plural- It gives grammarians the creeps To hear one say, “A flock of sheeps.” The Sheep is gentle, meek and mild, And led in herds by man or child- Being less savage than the rabbit, Sheep are gregarious by habit. The Sheep grows wool […]...
32. Glowing is her Bonnet Glowing is her Bonnet, Glowing is her Cheek, Glowing is her Kirtle, Yet she cannot speak. Better as the Daisy From the Summer hill Vanish unrecorded Save by tearful rill Save by loving sunrise Looking for her face. Save by feet unnumbered Pausing at the place....
33. Poem Written At Morning A sunny day’s complete Poussiniana Divide it from itself. It is this or that And it is not. By metaphor you paint A thing. Thus, the pineapple was a leather fruit, A fruit for pewter, thorned and palmed and blue, To be served by men of ice. The senses paint By metaphor. The juice was […]...
34. Song of the Wheat We have sung the song of the droving days, Of the march of the travelling sheep; By silent stages and lonely ways Thin, white battalions creep. But the man who now by the land would thrive Must his spurs to a plough-share beat. Is there ever a man in the world alive To sing the […]...
35. The Hour-glass That hour-glass which there you see With water fill’d, sirs, credit me, The humour was, as I have read, But lovers’ tears incrystalled. Which, as they drop by drop do pass From th’ upper to the under-glass, Do in a trickling manner tell, By many a watery syllable, That lovers’ tears in lifetime shed Do […]...
36. The Daylight is Dying The daylight is dying Away in the west, The wild birds are flying In silence to rest; In leafage and frondage Where shadows are deep, They pass to its bondage – The kingdom of sleep. And watched in their sleeping By stars in the height, They rest in your keeping, Oh, wonderful night. When night […]...
37. Saltbush Bill's Gamecock ‘Twas Saltbush Bill, with his travelling sheep, was making his way to town; He crossed them over the Hard Times Run, and he came to the Take ‘Em Down; He counted through at the boundary gate, and camped at the drafting yard: For Stingy Smith, of the Hard Times Run, had hunted him rather hard. […]...
38. Daylight is Dying The daylight is dying Away in the west, The wild birds are flying In silence to rest; In leafage and frondage Where shadows are deep, They pass to its bondage The kingdom of sleep And watched in their sleeping By stars in the height, They rest in your keeping, O wonderful night. When night doth […]...
39. The Reveille Trumpets of the Lancer Corps Sound a loud reveille; Sound it over Sydney shore, Send the message far and wide Down the Richmond River side. Boot and Saddle, mount and ride, Sound a loud reveille. Whither go ye, Lancers gay, With your bold reveille? O’er the ocean far away From your sunny southern home, Over […]...
40. The Night Cometh Work! for the night is coming; Work! through the morning hours; Work! while the dew is sparkling; Work! ‘mid the springing flowers; Work! while the day grows brighter, Under the glowing sun; Work! for the night is coming, Night, when man’s work is done. Work! for the night is coming; Work! through the sunny noon; […]...