arthwollipot
Limerick Purist Pronouns: He/Him
Uh, yeah, I guess. Nowhere near the status of Banjo though.
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Australia
- Thread starter Akhenaten
- Start date
Sideroxylon
Featherless biped
Judith Wright and Henry Lawson also say hi.
arthwollipot
Limerick Purist Pronouns: He/Him
Henry Lawson! That's the name of the other particularly famous Aussie poet I've been trying to think of.
Famously, Henry Lawson was born in a tent. So whenever you leave a door open and someone asks if you were born in a tent, you can answer "Yes, my name's Henry Lawson!"
ETA: I vaguely know C. J. Dennis and have heard of The Sentimenal Bloke, but I have no idea who Judith Wright is. I'm absolutely no fan of poetry, so my criterion for a "famous" poet is that I've heard of them.
Famously, Henry Lawson was born in a tent. So whenever you leave a door open and someone asks if you were born in a tent, you can answer "Yes, my name's Henry Lawson!"
ETA: I vaguely know C. J. Dennis and have heard of The Sentimenal Bloke, but I have no idea who Judith Wright is. I'm absolutely no fan of poetry, so my criterion for a "famous" poet is that I've heard of them.
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arthwollipot
Limerick Purist Pronouns: He/Him
Oh, and I'd just like to say this:
'Ello Da-a-ve! How's the fishin' getting on, Da-a-ve?
'Ello Da-a-ve! How's the fishin' getting on, Da-a-ve?
Sideroxylon
Featherless biped
Bora Ring - Judith Wright
The song is gone; the dance
is secret with the dancers in the earth,
the ritual useless, and the tribal story
lost in an alien tale.
Bora Ring - Judith Wright
Only the grass stands up
to mark the dancing-ring; the apple-gums
posture and mime a past corroboree,
murmur a broken chant.
The hunter is gone; the spear
is splintered underground; the painted bodies
a dream the world breathed sleeping and forgot.
The nomad feet are still.
Only the rider's heart
halts at a sightless shadow, an unsaid word
that fastens in the blood of the ancient curse,
the fear as old as Cain.
The song is gone; the dance
is secret with the dancers in the earth,
the ritual useless, and the tribal story
lost in an alien tale.
Bora Ring - Judith Wright
Only the grass stands up
to mark the dancing-ring; the apple-gums
posture and mime a past corroboree,
murmur a broken chant.
The hunter is gone; the spear
is splintered underground; the painted bodies
a dream the world breathed sleeping and forgot.
The nomad feet are still.
Only the rider's heart
halts at a sightless shadow, an unsaid word
that fastens in the blood of the ancient curse,
the fear as old as Cain.
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dafydd
Banned
- Joined
- Feb 14, 2008
- Messages
- 35,398
Same here.
Akhenaten
Heretic Pharaoh
I'm really sorry about that folks. I had no idea.
Frankly it makes little sense to me; they couldn't have sold a copy of that record for years.
I wonder why it's OK in Australia, but apparently nowhere else.
The obvious answer is that Australia told them to go and get stuffed, but that's more in the style of conjecture than researched answer.
Meh. I can get by without rickrolling people, I suppose.
Akhenaten
Heretic Pharaoh
ETA: I vaguely know C. J. Dennis and have heard of The Sentimenal Bloke, but I have no idea who Judith Wright is. I'm absolutely no fan of poetry, so my criterion for a "famous" poet is that I've heard of them.
Cast yer lookin' gear over this:
The Play
Wot's in a name? -- she sez . . . An' then she sighs,
An' clasps 'er little 'ands, an' rolls 'er eyes.
"A rose," she sez, "be any other name
Would smell the same.
Oh, w'erefore art you Romeo, young sir?
Chuck yer ole pot, an' change yer moniker!"
Doreen an' me, we bin to see a show --
The swell two-dollar touch. Bong tong, yeh know.
A chair apiece wiv velvit on the seat;
A slap-up treat.
The drarmer's writ be Shakespeare, years ago,
About a barmy goat called Romeo.
"Lady, be yonder moon I swear!" sez 'e.
An' then 'e climbs up on the balkiney;
An' there they smooge a treat, wiv pretty words
Like two love-birds.
I nudge Doreen. She whispers, "Ain't it grand!"
'Er eyes is shining an' I squeeze 'er 'and.
'Wot's in a name?" she sez. 'Struth, I dunno.
Billo is just as good as Romeo.
She may be Juli-er or Juli-et --
'E loves 'er yet.
If she's the tart 'e wants, then she's 'is queen,
Names never count ... But ar, I like "Doreen!"
A sweeter, dearer sound I never 'eard;
Ther's music 'angs around that little word,
Doreen! ... But wot was this I starts to say
About the play?
I'm off me beat. But when a bloke's in love
'Is thorts turns 'er way, like a 'omin' dove.
This Romeo 'e's lurkin' wiv a crew --
A dead tough crowd o' crooks -- called Montague.
'Is cliner's push -- wot's nicknamed Capulet --
They 'as 'em set.
Fair narks they are, jist like them back-street clicks,
Ixcep' they fights wiv skewers 'stid o' bricks.
Wot's in a name? Wot's in a string o' words?
They scraps in ole Verona wiv the'r swords,
An' never give a bloke a stray dog's chance,
An' that's Romance.
But when they deals it out wiv bricks an' boots
In Little Lon., they're low, degraded broots.
Wot's jist plain stoush wiv us, right 'ere to-day,
Is "valler" if yer fur enough away.
Some time, some writer bloke will do the trick
Wiv Ginger Mick,
Of Spadger's Lane.
'E'll be a Romeo,
When 'e's bin dead five 'undred years or so.
Fair Juli-et, she gives 'er boy the tip.
Sez she: "Don't sling that crowd o' mine no lip;
An' if you run agin a Capulet,
Jist do a get."
'E swears 'e's done wiv lash; 'e'll chuck it clean.
(Same as I done when I first met Doreen.)
They smooge some more at that. Ar, strike me blue!
It gimme Joes to sit an' watch them two! '
E'd break away an' start to say good-bye,
An' then she'd sigh
"Ow, Ro-me-o!" an' git a strangle-holt,
An' 'ang around 'im like she feared 'e'd bolt.
Nex' day 'e words a gorspil cove about
A secret weddin'; an' they plan it out.
'E spouts a piece about 'ow 'e's bewitched:
Then they git 'itched ...
Now, 'ere's the place where I fair git the pip!
She's 'is for keeps, an' yet 'e lets 'er slip!
Ar! but 'e makes me sick! A fair gazob!
E's jist the glarsey on the soulful sob,
'E'll sigh and spruik, a' 'owl a love-sick vow --
(The silly cow!)
But when 'e's got 'er, spliced an' on the straight
'E crools the pitch, an' tries to kid it's Fate.
Aw! Fate me foot! Instid of slopin' soon
As 'e was wed, off on 'is 'oneymoon,
'Im an' 'is cobber, called Mick Curio,
They 'ave to go
An' mix it wiv that push o' Capulets.
They look fer trouble; an' it's wot they gets.
A tug named Tyball (cousin to the skirt)
Sprags 'em an' makes a start to sling off dirt.
Nex' minnit there's a reel ole ding-dong go -—
'Arf round or so.
Mick Curio, 'e gets it in the neck,
"Ar rats!" 'e sez, an' passes in 'is check.
Quite natchril, Romeo gits wet as 'ell.
"It's me or you!" 'e 'owls, an' wiv a yell,
Plunks Tyball through the gizzard wiv 'is sword,
'Ow I ongcored!
"Put in the boot!" I sez. "Put in the boot!"
"'Ush!" sez Doreen ... "Shame!" sez some silly coot.
Then Romeo, 'e dunno wot to do.
The cops gits busy, like they allwiz do,
An' nose around until 'e gits blue funk
An' does a bunk.
They wants 'is tart to wed some other guy.
"Ah, strike!" she sez. "I wish that I could die!"
Now, this 'ere gorspil bloke's a fair shrewd 'ead.
Sez 'e "I'll dope yeh, so they'll think yer dead."
(I tips 'e was a cunnin' sort, wot knoo
A thing or two.)
She takes 'is knock-out drops, up in 'er room:
They think she's snuffed, an' plant 'er in 'er tomb.
Then things gits mixed a treat an' starts to whirl.
'Ere's Romeo comes back an' finds 'is girl
Tucked in 'er little coffing, cold an' stiff,
An' in a jiff,
'E swallows lysol, throws a fancy fit,
'Ead over turkey, an' 'is soul 'as flit.
Then Juli-et wakes up an' sees 'im there,
Turns on the water-works an' tears 'er 'air,
"Dear love," she sez, "I cannot live alone!"
An' wiv a moan,
She grabs 'is pockit knife, an' ends 'er cares ...
"Peanuts or lollies!" sez a boy upstairs.
- C J Dennis
Wot's in a name? -- she sez . . . An' then she sighs,
An' clasps 'er little 'ands, an' rolls 'er eyes.
"A rose," she sez, "be any other name
Would smell the same.
Oh, w'erefore art you Romeo, young sir?
Chuck yer ole pot, an' change yer moniker!"
Doreen an' me, we bin to see a show --
The swell two-dollar touch. Bong tong, yeh know.
A chair apiece wiv velvit on the seat;
A slap-up treat.
The drarmer's writ be Shakespeare, years ago,
About a barmy goat called Romeo.
"Lady, be yonder moon I swear!" sez 'e.
An' then 'e climbs up on the balkiney;
An' there they smooge a treat, wiv pretty words
Like two love-birds.
I nudge Doreen. She whispers, "Ain't it grand!"
'Er eyes is shining an' I squeeze 'er 'and.
'Wot's in a name?" she sez. 'Struth, I dunno.
Billo is just as good as Romeo.
She may be Juli-er or Juli-et --
'E loves 'er yet.
If she's the tart 'e wants, then she's 'is queen,
Names never count ... But ar, I like "Doreen!"
A sweeter, dearer sound I never 'eard;
Ther's music 'angs around that little word,
Doreen! ... But wot was this I starts to say
About the play?
I'm off me beat. But when a bloke's in love
'Is thorts turns 'er way, like a 'omin' dove.
This Romeo 'e's lurkin' wiv a crew --
A dead tough crowd o' crooks -- called Montague.
'Is cliner's push -- wot's nicknamed Capulet --
They 'as 'em set.
Fair narks they are, jist like them back-street clicks,
Ixcep' they fights wiv skewers 'stid o' bricks.
Wot's in a name? Wot's in a string o' words?
They scraps in ole Verona wiv the'r swords,
An' never give a bloke a stray dog's chance,
An' that's Romance.
But when they deals it out wiv bricks an' boots
In Little Lon., they're low, degraded broots.
Wot's jist plain stoush wiv us, right 'ere to-day,
Is "valler" if yer fur enough away.
Some time, some writer bloke will do the trick
Wiv Ginger Mick,
Of Spadger's Lane.
'E'll be a Romeo,
When 'e's bin dead five 'undred years or so.
Fair Juli-et, she gives 'er boy the tip.
Sez she: "Don't sling that crowd o' mine no lip;
An' if you run agin a Capulet,
Jist do a get."
'E swears 'e's done wiv lash; 'e'll chuck it clean.
(Same as I done when I first met Doreen.)
They smooge some more at that. Ar, strike me blue!
It gimme Joes to sit an' watch them two! '
E'd break away an' start to say good-bye,
An' then she'd sigh
"Ow, Ro-me-o!" an' git a strangle-holt,
An' 'ang around 'im like she feared 'e'd bolt.
Nex' day 'e words a gorspil cove about
A secret weddin'; an' they plan it out.
'E spouts a piece about 'ow 'e's bewitched:
Then they git 'itched ...
Now, 'ere's the place where I fair git the pip!
She's 'is for keeps, an' yet 'e lets 'er slip!
Ar! but 'e makes me sick! A fair gazob!
E's jist the glarsey on the soulful sob,
'E'll sigh and spruik, a' 'owl a love-sick vow --
(The silly cow!)
But when 'e's got 'er, spliced an' on the straight
'E crools the pitch, an' tries to kid it's Fate.
Aw! Fate me foot! Instid of slopin' soon
As 'e was wed, off on 'is 'oneymoon,
'Im an' 'is cobber, called Mick Curio,
They 'ave to go
An' mix it wiv that push o' Capulets.
They look fer trouble; an' it's wot they gets.
A tug named Tyball (cousin to the skirt)
Sprags 'em an' makes a start to sling off dirt.
Nex' minnit there's a reel ole ding-dong go -—
'Arf round or so.
Mick Curio, 'e gets it in the neck,
"Ar rats!" 'e sez, an' passes in 'is check.
Quite natchril, Romeo gits wet as 'ell.
"It's me or you!" 'e 'owls, an' wiv a yell,
Plunks Tyball through the gizzard wiv 'is sword,
'Ow I ongcored!
"Put in the boot!" I sez. "Put in the boot!"
"'Ush!" sez Doreen ... "Shame!" sez some silly coot.
Then Romeo, 'e dunno wot to do.
The cops gits busy, like they allwiz do,
An' nose around until 'e gits blue funk
An' does a bunk.
They wants 'is tart to wed some other guy.
"Ah, strike!" she sez. "I wish that I could die!"
Now, this 'ere gorspil bloke's a fair shrewd 'ead.
Sez 'e "I'll dope yeh, so they'll think yer dead."
(I tips 'e was a cunnin' sort, wot knoo
A thing or two.)
She takes 'is knock-out drops, up in 'er room:
They think she's snuffed, an' plant 'er in 'er tomb.
Then things gits mixed a treat an' starts to whirl.
'Ere's Romeo comes back an' finds 'is girl
Tucked in 'er little coffing, cold an' stiff,
An' in a jiff,
'E swallows lysol, throws a fancy fit,
'Ead over turkey, an' 'is soul 'as flit.
Then Juli-et wakes up an' sees 'im there,
Turns on the water-works an' tears 'er 'air,
"Dear love," she sez, "I cannot live alone!"
An' wiv a moan,
She grabs 'is pockit knife, an' ends 'er cares ...
"Peanuts or lollies!" sez a boy upstairs.
- C J Dennis
Akhenaten
Heretic Pharaoh
Can I beg another favour guys and gals?
Can anyone who hasn't voted in the Pith Poll go and give Dave Rogers a hand to get over the line?
I'll post some more Kylies and Hughs if'n he wins.
Lincus quiccus
Can anyone who hasn't voted in the Pith Poll go and give Dave Rogers a hand to get over the line?
I'll post some more Kylies and Hughs if'n he wins.
Lincus quiccus
dafydd
Banned
- Joined
- Feb 14, 2008
- Messages
- 35,398
That rings a faint bell.Something to do with dynamiting fish and the dog runs away with the bomb?
Akhenaten
Heretic Pharaoh
Expanding bait.
Yeah, the yarn is called The Exploding Dog. I'll post it shortly.
Good story, and you appear to have the basics of it. It's very funny.
Cheers mate.
Yeah, the yarn is called The Exploding Dog. I'll post it shortly.
Good story, and you appear to have the basics of it. It's very funny.
Cheers mate.
Akhenaten
Heretic Pharaoh
Mae fy hofrenfad yn llawn llyswennod!
Akhenaten
Heretic Pharaoh
The accent gave me away, did it?
I think I'd better stop playing now. I don't speak a word of Welsh and I'll end up insulting you, which is something I wouldn't choose to do for all the tea in China.
PS I know what the phrase I sent you means, but was the grammar and spelling OK? It might come in handy one day.
I think I'd better stop playing now. I don't speak a word of Welsh and I'll end up insulting you, which is something I wouldn't choose to do for all the tea in China.
PS I know what the phrase I sent you means, but was the grammar and spelling OK? It might come in handy one day.
Akhenaten
Heretic Pharaoh
I've been thinking for a while about making a sound clip of myself speaking for the edification of the viewers.
Fortunately, so far, I've listened to my second thoughts instead, which have been a far more sensible "Do not commit this atrocity."
I think Orphia Nay is the only one who's ever heard me say more than a couple of words. Be liberal with your sympathy for the poor thing.
Fortunately, so far, I've listened to my second thoughts instead, which have been a far more sensible "Do not commit this atrocity."
I think Orphia Nay is the only one who's ever heard me say more than a couple of words. Be liberal with your sympathy for the poor thing.
Why, what's wrong with it?
arthwollipot
Limerick Purist Pronouns: He/Him
Yeah, the yarn is called The Exploding Dog. I'll post it shortly.[/quote]The Loaded Dog. The other good old Aussie yarn I had a childrens' book of when I was a kid.
That was back when "When the smoke and dust cleared away, the remains of the nasty yellow dog were lying against the paling fence of the yard looking as if he had been kicked into a fire by a horse and afterwards rolled in the dust under a barrow, and finally thrown against the fence from a distance." was considered appropriate for children.
Akhenaten
Heretic Pharaoh
To the other Australians it'll be fine, but to our overseas friends I have a feeling I'm going to be fairly unintelligible.
We shall see.
Thanks Arti. I'm glad one of us is on the ball.
I probably should stop cuffing things all the time and actually look everything up. I research the 'proper' posts I make, but now and then I slip into 'Pub Yarn' mode and I truly am grateful that you and the others are there to keep me on the straight and narrow.
I'll post some bits of The LOADED Dog shortly. (heh heh)
Cheers Mate.
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