ABPA - Australian Bush Poets Association

This is a collaborative piece between myself and John Jasper-Brush which came out of a Bush Poetry writing workshop we did on the Writers Dock Forum. John has kindly given his permission to post it here

It was an interesting exercise and thanks to those at ABPA who so kindly allowed me to showcase and use some of their work.

When John and I started writing this we had no idea where it was going - but it turned out remarkably cohesive in my opinon - Hope Neville agrees. and hope you like it.


The Ballad of Kate Hall

J
Ride north until you sight `Spring Ridge’
to the west of Blackall,
then take the track beside the bridge
where the blue gums grow tall,
and spur your horse to cross the ford
over sandy shallows
then turn due east, then right toward
the outcrop known as `Gallows.’
M
You’ll see the Homestead waiting there
beneath silky oak trees,
and oh my love do not despair
if at first you don’t see
the one who loves you best of all
awaiting at the gate,
for I’m resigned oh husband dear
to what is now my fate.
J
That day a rider, Frank Scanlon
the homestead track did ride.
A scoundrel bush ranger felon
with burning hate inside.
He boldly bailed-up Mistress Hall
sought jewellery and cash,
and said he’d made this social call
to rob the squatter trash.
M
But this time he’d picked his mark wrong
no weak fair maid was she.
She stared him boldly in the eye
with his demands agreed,
and bending to her dresser drawer
her jewellery box did fetch;
a loaded pistol she did palm
and shot the bloody wretch.
J
Kate’s bullet skimmed through Scanlon’s hair,
ricocheted off the wall.
Then still with force to down an Ox
it caused Scanlon to fall.
Its passage not deflected by
a shattered jug of rum;
unimpeded forward progress -
lead bullet entered bum.
M
He fell to ground with mighty thud
and piercing yells of pain,
his Moleskins stained with bright red blood
he’d not come here again.
He dragged himself across the floor
as steely eyed—Kate watched.
The pistol firmly levelled now
and pointing near his crotch.
M
Now for his manhood Scanlon feared,
he’d seen that look before,
the last time he'd left her standing
beside the homestead door.
Big with child and belly swollen,
salt tears on her sweet face -
she’d loved the scoundrel Scanlon then.
Another time and place.
J
She’d given him the love she had.
To him it was but fun.
Then just like he, the seed was bad
she had a still born son.
And later she received a note;
he blamed her for the death.
He rued the day they met, he wrote,
and would till his last breath.
J
‘twas then, her husband, Sir Chudleigh,
entered onto the scene
And to his horror he did see
an outlaw raw and mean;
who on his elbow raised his gun,
to aim, at Kate’s fair head
So Chudleigh fired, the chamber spun—
he shot the scoundrel dead.
M
She saw him bleed, she saw him fall
her face was set like stone
their secret now had died with him
for her sins she’d atone.
She’d no regrets – no sorrow felt,
he’d killed her love the day
he walked away and left her there,
not heeding her dismay .
J
Then pine box rattled in the dray,
dark duty to fulfil.
They crossed the ford near ‘Mandalay’
and plodded up the hill.
Where they interred the Devil’s slave;
in stony barren ground.
No rough-hewn cross did mark his grave,
no simple words— no sound.
M
But rumour tells on windswept nights
that Scanlon rides the track,
down to the homestead near the trees -
upon his ghostly hack.
He longs for Katie and the child.
His regrets, far too late.
Destined to wait for evermore.
Resigned now to his fate.



A collaborative effort by John - Jasper Brush & Maureen Clifford © 11/10

G/day Maureen
What an epic and a darn good story as well, I enjoyed the read.
I've often wondered about joint authorship, even wondered if we could have a fun one on the forum, every ones names put in a hat and draw partners or even groups of 3 or 4, communicate by PM, Yea I know, I'm dreaming again aren't I.

Cheers Terry

Don't really see why not. Two sites I am on - one does a daily prompt poem - to be written within 30 minutes of signing in and 6 prompts are given - use just one or all, Most days I manage that and look forward to doing it. Being greedy I try to use all the prompts. Greed is good - sometimes.

The other site has a lot of collaborative work going on and have participated in that as well - and with some very different results. Find these to be interesting to participate in and quite enjoyable - they stretch you a bit which is a good thing sometimes.

Glad you liked this - it grew over a few weeks but was easy enough to do. Both John and I enjoyed the challenge.

Cheers

Maureen

Great yarn, interesting exercise Maureen. Did you go at this a stanza each? I reckon it'd be fun to try some collaborative workshops.

Cheers, Marty

G'day Maureen and Terry, some time back croc and I had a bit of fun on Franks site we wrote a poem which finished up being called 'Altogether mates', from memory it was croc's idea and he offered me the starting rights, I penned a stanza and the next day he responded with one, this went on for quite sometime and I think Frank actually pulled us up, he put all the contributions together and posted it as a complete poem, I think it is around somewhere, I will try and find it and post it if I can. Anyway, it was a simple thing to do and we had a bit of fun doing it.

Thanks Marty I have marked the verses as to who did what - it just kind of evolved and like Ross has mentioned - it could have gone on and on but common sense has to find a cut off point.

I dare say if enough interest was engendered Manfred might agree to doing something along these lines perhaps as a homework exercise. Don't think they would be any good for comp work - but certainly good fun. After all we do it all the time here on our threads any way - don't we? It is just not formalized, and I seem to remember that were some pearlers on the old site.

Cheers

Maureen

That turned out quite well Maureen, exactly in the old dramatic ballad style. Yes I do agree that it is remarkably cohesive. I must admit I am a bit dubious about collaborative poems because I fear it might destroy the unity that I believe a poem should have. That just my perspective.
As a exercise in in comradely delectation, I guess it's worthwhile.

Boy , you know some fierce women Maureen.

Neville.

G/day All,

I reckon it could be a lot of fun. I suppose you could get everyone who's involved to put forward a suggested topic for the poem, these are put in a hat and someone say 'Maureen' draws out the winner. the same could be done with the selection of the writing groups or pairs or whatever. Worth a thought.
Well cheers everybody I'm off shortly for a colonoscopy, I hope. I just got a call delaying it for two hours, it's a yearly event for me and I hate the preparation

Terry

Brilliant poem Maureen and Jasper. I really enjoyed it. Question. Why is she Mistress Hall but her husband is Sir Chugleigh?

Good luck Terry. Enjoy your snooze!

Heather

Picky picky picky - she was an independent woman who had no desire to be known as Mrs Chudleigh or Lady Chudleigh I mean would you? She was a woman ahead of her time - long before womens lib came on the scene. She could stand on her own two feet - didn't need a man to mollycoddle her, could shoot like Annie Oakley, swear like a trooper but showed genteel restrain. Could love and hate with equal passion and liked a drop of rum. Was capable of digging big holes even when pregnant, lifting heavy loads even when pregnant, knew how to keep her mouth shut and had mastered the art of deception.

She was soft and womanly but hard as nails - an iron fist in a silk glove - and you never, never, never mess with Mistress Hall.

Anything else you would like to know Heather

Cheers

Maureen