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The 1st of its sort, this landmark poetry anthology comprises the paintings of Australia’s significant poets in addition to lesser-known yet both affecting writers of Australian poetry considering the fact that 1788. starting from concrete to prose poems, from the cerebral to the naïve, from the funny to the confessional, and from formal to loose verse, this paintings additionally gains translations of a few outstanding Aboriginal tune poems. With items from one hundred seventy Australian poets, in addition to brief serious biographies, this cautious reevaluation of Australian poetry makes this an exceptional e-book that may be learn and loved over an entire life.

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Extra info for Australian Poetry Since 1788

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The old keg of rum! Remember old Jack Palmer and his old keg of rum! William Per r ie 19th century We have used the version of “The Old Bark Hut” in A. B. Paterson’s Old Bush Songs (1905), except for the third last verse and chorus which is a composite of Paterson’s and another version. Will Lawson, in his Australian Bush Songs and Ballads, attributed this song to William Perrie, commenting, “These verses were written in the shepherding days – when fences were few and far between – at Dungog, NSW.

The old keg of ruml! We were all associated round the old keg of rum! When shearing time was over at the sheds on the Bree, We’d raise a keg from somewhere and we’d all have a spree. We’d sit and sing together till we got that blind and dumb, We couldn’t find the bunghole of the old keg of rum. Chorus The old keg of rum! the old keg of rum! We couldn’t find the bunghole of the old keg of rum! It’s jovially together boys – we’d laugh, we’d chat, we’d sing; Sometimes we’d have a little row some argument would bring, Till often in the scrimmage, I’ve corked it with my thumb To keep the life from leaking from the old keg of rum!

Enormous fellows! shaggy, icy, – grim With hunger, and all bent on tasting him! Begins the onslaught! horrible his affright! Great his despair! Yet he maintains the fight! But just as in the strife an arm is lost, (That luckless arm least sheltered from the frost, From whence no doubt the dream-suggestion came That worked about him this strange Queen-Mab game) Sweating and wild, he wakes! – relieved, ’tis true, Yet in a strait that ferrets him anew. So sitting up, he first his face long drawn Rubs hard, then looks, and hails the wished-for dawn: Next scans the unknown scene with rueful eyes, And folds his arms, and shakes his head, and sighs.

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