Poetry

Our thanks to Gerry Garrett for all his hard work this year in providing these wonderful poems for the enjoyment of our readers. Have a happy and safe break and please enjoy these two pieces by the great Banjo Paterson.

Published 1st December 2024 By Compiled by Gerald Garrett
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CLANCY OF THE OVERFLOW – A.B. “Banjo” Paterson

 

I had written him a letter which I had, for want of better

   Knowledge, sent to where I met him down the Lachlan, years ago,

He was shearing when I knew him, so I sent the letter to him,

   Just “on spec”, addressed as follows: “Clancy, of The Overflow”.

 

And an answer came directed in a writing unexpected,

   (And I think the same was written in a thumbnail dipped in tar)

‘Twas his shearing mate who wrote it, and verbatim I will quote it:

   “Clancy’s gone to Queensland droving, and we don’t know where he are.”

 

In my wild erratic fancy, visions come to me of Clancy

   Gone a-droving “down the Cooper” where the western drovers go;

As the stock are slowly stringing, Clancy rides behind them singing,

   For the drover’s life has pleasures that the townsfolk never know.

 

And the bush hath friends to meet him, and their kindly voices greet him

   In the murmur of the breezes and the river on its bars,

And he sees the vision splendid of the sunlit plains extended,

  And at night the wondrous glory of the everlasting stars.

 

I am sitting in my dingy little office, where a stingy

    Ray of sunlight struggles feebly down between the houses tall,

And the foetid air and gritty of the dusty, dirty city

   Through the open window floating, spreads its foulness over all.

 

And in place of lowing cattle, I can hear the fiendish rattle

   Of the tramways and the buses making hurry down the street,

And the language uninviting of the gutter children fighting,

   Comes fitfully and faintly through the ceaseless tramp of feet.

 

And the hurrying people daunt me, and their pallid faces haunt me

  As they shoulder one another in their rush and nervous haste,

With their eager eyes and greedy, and their stunted forms and weedy,

   For townsfolk have no time to grow, they have no time to waste.

 

And I somehow fancy that I’d like to change with Clancy,

   Like to take a turn at droving where the seasons come and go,

While he faced the round eternal of the cashbook and the journal –

   But I doubt he’d suit the office, Clancy, of “The Overflow”.

 

The Bulletin, 21 December 1889.

 

The Weather Prophet – AB “Banjo” Paterson

‘Ow can it rain.’ the old man said, ‘with things the way they are?

You’ve got to learn off ant and bee, and jackass and galah;

And no man never saw it rain, for fifty years at least,

Not when the blessed parakeets are flyin’ to the east!’

 

The weeks went by, the squatter wrote to tell his bank the news.

‘It’s still as dry as dust,’ he said, ‘I’m feeding all the ewes;

The overdraft would sink a ship, but make your mind at rest,

It’s all right now, the parakeets are flyin’ to the west!’

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