THE LAND ENDURES

[Terry]

Hi Everybody,
This is the poem I mentioned in my post on about the Boyup Brook Comp. As mentioned I messed up badly by having a typo and a couple of other mistakes as well. (I'm not saying it would have done any better without the mistakes)
I like the poem but have always felt that it's a bit stop - start and jumps about a bit too much.
It's another drought poem and meant to try and emphasize the harshness of that part of the country when in drought, but also how this country can bounce back with rain.
I had been writing this when Maureen put up the above name as a homework topic and it seemed an ideal fit for this.
Please feel free as usual to comment and don't be backward in pointing out your views be they good or otherwise, I always value your comments.

Cheers Terry (I'm reciting this tonight at our local Muster)


THE LAND ENDURES

Hot winds have seared the land about with flood plains dry and cracked by drought.
Most animals have long since left and those that stayed face likely death.
Before too long their hunger mounts - survival now is all that counts,
and some already start to wilt, and soon will breathe their final breath,

The mills are like a magnet now, the last refuge for sheep or cow -
they drink from troughs that are brim full, but not a blade of grass remains.
Those shriveled plants on which they feed is not the food that livestock need,
and so they wander further out to try and ease their hunger pains.

The drooping leaves of snakewood trees are stirred to puffs of fitful breeze,
and any shade that still remains, is sought out by the weary mob.
They rest there from the heat of day then search for food that’s miles away.
Through hours of darkness they must feed, then head for troughs at Beasley’s knob.

I see a land that cries for rain - dry creeks that seem to writhe in pain
and tortured though this land appears, it will recover, you will see.
A thousand droughts have come before - in time there’ll be a thousand more,
and cruel and harsh though this may seem, it’s nature’s way, it’s meant to be.

A heat haze blurs the land ahead where lie the bones of ancient dead,
they’re fossils from the droughts long past when countless stock have perished here.
Then came the years so lush and green to cover up this horrid scene,
and for a time you could forget, until these harsh times reappear.

Mirages hide a land stripped bare, convincing some there’s water there,
with hills that look like islands now surrounded by a tranquil sea.
Then disembodied scenes appear that float about then disappear.
No wonder men went mad out here when strayed from where they ought to be.

The scorching sun allows no rest and sets for all the sternest test,
it beats on down from dawn to dusk tormenting us throughout the day.
But even then there’s worse in store with dust storms streaming in once more,
and misery will be our lot, until the storms have blown away.

No man has ever tamed this land of spinifex and drifting sand,
though tribes that once had lived out here had found a way they could survive.
By using nature as a guide, they freely wandered far and wide
and found a niche that suited them, and over time they learned to thrive

Their gnamma holes lay idle now, abandoned in the past somehow,
forgotten in these modern times of mills and bores to water stock.
But little use are they this day - starvation has the final say,
while water once the life blood here pours from the earth around the clock.

It’s been this way for countless years while taunting man and prompting fears.
Foolhardy though it seems at times, there’s those that stay and hope for rain.
And through it all the cycle churns and lush and drought will have their turns,
eventually the rains will come and then this land will bloom again.

******

© T.E. Piggott December 2010

[Maureen K Clifford]

I like it Terry - my ex always said it always rains at the end of the drought...very dry humour that man had.

The term gnamma was a new one to me - and I presume it refers to the watering holes that were often hidden and only known to the local tribes in the area???

Your words depict the scene very well -the picture is painted, the reader drawn into the story and feels the despair and harshness of our country but also feels the hope that keeps our men on the land going. Well done - works for me.

I particularly liked this

The mills are like a magnet now, the last refuge for sheep or cow -
they drink from troughs that are brim full, but not a blade of grass remains.
Those shriveled plants on which they feed is not the food that livestock need,
and so they wander further out to try and ease their hunger pains.

People who have never lived on the land just don't realize the distances stock have to travel each day to get water as they eat out the feed around the watering holes - it is often many many miles and stock in weakened condition and the young ones just can't make it. Drought is as you so rightly point out just part of the ongoing cycle out here.


Cheers

Maureen

[Terry]

Hi Maureen,
You have interpreted the poem perfectly, I have seen quite a few droughts over the years but last year up on the Ashburton was was by far the most confronting, with countless dead cattle around all the mills and waterholes and scattered about everywhere you went.
In many cases they'd stagger in from miles away to drink and then collapse never to rise again. (This poem is a follow up from an earlier one I posted that described in detail the horrors of it all) I have tried to keep the poem as authentic as possible, there was no need to exaggerate.
Your quite right in your description of Gnamma holes (sometimes spelt Namma holes) The Aboriginals would clean them out and keep them covered with rocks or logs to slow evaporation, I have come across many of them over here.

Cheers and thanks for commenting

Terry

[thestoryteller]

They come and go and leave mixed feelings.

Not easy on the land, that's for sure.



Merv.

[Catherine Lee]

Hi Terry,
Wow, what a poem. I totally agree with Maureen - from the very first line you paint such a clear picture that you can really see and feel it all as if a movie camera is panning around the whole area to capture every scene - drooping leaves, mirages, hungry and thirsty stock, searing sun...you have captured it all with your cleverly crafted words. The last stanza of course reminds us that it is a cycle and therefore the poem ends on a positive note with the promise of eventual rain, which I like, and I think your title is excellent too.
I'm sure this must have gone down extremely well when you recited it - it is powerful and skilful and takes the reader/listener to another place - right into the heart of the drought.

[r.magnay]

Another one of your great written pictures Terry....while I have never been in that country you write about, it reminded me of some time I spent around Broken Hill in a bad drought....(not that there is really a good drought, but some are worse than others hey?)

[Terry]

Thanks Merv, Catherine and Ross.

It's been quite awhile since I saw this one last
But I still have vivid memories of those days up on Ashburton Downs station.
Probably the most confronting scenes I've witnessed in around 40 years up in that country.
I wonder how many people can really appreciate what it was like that year.

Regards

Terry