In This Issue:
Editorial or "Ric's Ramblings"
Welcome to the very first edition of "The Bush Song". For some of you who subscribed a while ago, it may have been some time coming, but I wanted to wait until our subscriber base was of a reasonable size to make the issue of the newsletter worthwhile. I am pleased to say that the subscriber base is growing steadily and we look forward to producing newsletters on a regular basis from now on.
Don't you just love editorials? A great chance to get on the old "soapbox" and espouse a few views. Readers are welcome to send emails and comment on articles and the content of the newsletter at any time. I look forward to hearing from you.
As lovers of bush poetry, we all want to promote the works of the great traditional poets and hopefully foster in others a love of the works we all enjoy. It is only by doing this that others often become aware of what bush poetry is all about and the wealth of stories that have been recorded in the form of bush verse.
Unfortunately, our culture, unlike many others, does not have an oral tradition of passing on history to the next generation. This may have been going on in the days before television, but it certainly appears lost these days. Parents seem to be relying on the school system to teach morals, values and sex education apart from reading and writing. Unfortunately, there is very little time given in schools it would seem to the teaching of Australian history and bush poetry. As a result, children today may never be exposed to the works of the great writers such as Paterson and Lawson who have gone before us.
Whenever I perform, I urge people to take their children or grandchildren and sit them on their knee and read them "The Man From Snowy River". If children ask to be read a story - then read them a poem. It is by doing these things that our heritage and history can be passed down to the next generation. Granted, they may forget it all until they turn 40, but at some stage in their life, hopefully they will remember Mum, Dad, Grandma or Grandpa reading some bush poetry to them. Recently I had the opportunity to read some bush poetry to my own grandson, who I do not see very often. He is four years of age and surprised me with the questions he asked and how long he sat and listened. So, grab 'em while their young and foster a love of our country and heritage so that it will be preserved in the future.
Finally, Jude and myself would like to wish you all a very happy and safe Christmas.
Featured Poet - Roderick (Rod) Williams
Rod's Biography
I was born at Lismore (Northern N.S.W.) in 1940.
Upon Dad's return from World War II, he took up a farm (which included a large banana plantation) at Upper Burringbar.
Throughout my childhood and youth (apart from 14 months in Sydney working at A.W.A. and doing night classes for an accountancy scholarship I'd won - which I tossed in because of my love for the country) I worked on our own and neighbouring properties in bananas, small crop growing, fence post splitting, cattle mustering and timber work.
I also wandered the McPherson Range, exploring its beautiful hills, ridges, valleys and its unique and wonderful forests and wildlife.
Dad died the day I left home to join the Permanent Army at Enoggera army camp in Brisbane. Word came through and my “Swearing in” was postponed and I went home. I had just turned 18. Dad was 56.
Not long after that my mother let the bank take the farm.
I went working in Brisbane for a drainage contractor and dug up half of Chermside (pick and shovel, of course) for the houses to be sewered.
A chance meeting led to a job in the Mitchell - St. George area in Western Queensland, with Reg Cullen and his mobile saw-mill, cutting and milling Cypress pine for sheep and cattle stations in the area.
I then worked as a stockman on two jointly owned properties, alternating between “Tippendale South” near Bollon (in the (red soil) mulga and sandalwood country, as it was and still should be) and “Comilaroy”, down the Barwon river from Mungindi. This included one small ten day droving trip from “Wandoonah” near Moree, to “Comilaroy”.
I played a season of rugby league for Mungindi, while working on those stations. In the league we played St. George, Dirrinbandi, two Goondiwindi teams and Boggabilla.
Dirrinbandi field was half full of bull-dust holes and Boggabilla was a bare claypan, except for stones, and the only bit of green was some khaki burr. Seven (including me) were poisoned after one match and we had to have penicillin injections.
Great, when you're putting down a fence line 140 kms out of town in the mulga.
After recovering from a near deadly dose of Hepatitis, I entered the shearing sheds rouseabouting and wool-pressing and soon ended up with learners pens around Glen Innes and Armidale.
I then quickly became a full-time professional shearer, beginning each year around Quilpie, Eromanga, Windorah area, then Charleville, Blackall and up to Julia Creek,Hughenden and sometimes ending the year on The New England or eastern Victoria.
I had a break for 20 months, travelling the world on Scandinavian freighters (using a system called “Seven all over”) working in four different countries and part of a season on a fishing boat at Lossiemouth, Scotland.
I also managed an overland trip from London to Colombo, via the Middle-East.
Returning to Australia via Darwin, I spent 12 months shearing, beginning at Hughenden and working south.
In Sydney, while chasing up a mate (fencing contractor, Bill Reynolds) from Charleville, my career took a dramatic change when I became an actor (also working as a fitter, builder's labourer, truck driver and sugar refinery worker to keep bread and butter on the table during the early stages of this new career).
From 1971 to the end of 1979, I worked as a professional actor on stage and in T.V. and film.
I was nominated for “Male Actor in a Leading Role” in the prestigious “Victorian Greenroom Awards”. This was for a one man show written by Barry Dickens, “Between Engagements”. The nominees were Paul Eddington, Frank Gallacher, Bruce Myles, Geoffrey Rush and Roderick Williams.
Paul Eddington (from “Yes Minister”) won the award for a role in “The Browning Version”. An English actor in a play brought from England on tour, takes home the Australian Award. It makes you wonder, doesn't it?
An horrific car smash stopped everything and after 18 months of treatment, recovery and hibernation, I returned to the shearing industry with Dick Duggan's team, mainly based around Ivanhoe-Wilcannia but also sheds around Euroa and Benalla in Victoria. Until 1994 I worked in both professions. Half the year with Dick's team and half the year as an actor.
As I grew older my worn out lower back discs and knees forced me to slow down.
I began writing (seriously) in 1998 and worked as the regular entertainer at Middlebrook Station to bus loads of tourists for whom I and my blue heeler dog, Jessie, would tell yarns, perform poems and songs and shear a sheep or two when required.
I am now living by Dingo Creek near Marlee, west of Wingham, N.S.W. were I continue to write, spend time in the bush and still shear the odd sheep. A shearing mate of mine, Bede Tattersall, (we shore together during the eighties around Ivanhoe) now lives at Wingham and has built up (as a sideline) a pet sheep run. So I go with him sometimes to various little hobby farms and houses and peel the wool off a few pets and laugh at some of the situations and reminisce about the western sheds.
My writing continues to occupy me and I have started my own publishing firm Bonza Bluedog Publications to publish my work.
More Information
You can find out more about Rod, his work and his products by visiting his website at www.rodwilliamsbushpoet.com.au .
A Poem From Rod
TRAVEL THE RED ROAD – DARE TO DREAM.
Travel the Red Road – dare to dream
From the eastern shores to the opal seam-
That weaves down through the red earth deep
Out in the heart in a timeless sleep.
Below the ground or above the trees
Where the western wind at its restless ease-
Whispers the stories far and wide
From the Barcoo’s banks to the big Broome tide.
Travel the Red Road , stop with me
Beneath the spread of the Wilga tree-
As night comes down, from your head to heal
Through all your body and mind you feel
the force that comes and never lies
As naked under the naked skies-
You sit till the stars burn in your soul
And lay you out in your blanket roll.
From “The Roper” down to the sweeping shores
Where the mighty Southern Ocean roars-
Where Aurora ’s colours change the sky
As flashing and flaming on they fly.
Then hurtled back from the dazzling sights
To the stony ground and the ‘Min-Min’ lights-
Where we’ll not know if we can’t see-
Where we belong in the mystery.
Skimming the tops of “The Great Divide”
From north to south down the eastern side-
The Gibralter Range and Hanging Rock
To the plateau heights of Nowendoc.
Drifting above the Tumut trees
We rise with the sharp Talbingo breeze-
Through the chill of the Kosciusko night
And follow the Snowy’s Southbound flight.
The sounds of the ancient ocean roar
From the caves beneath the Nullabor-
To Augusta ’s crystal stalactites
Then up to the dazzling floral sights.
The world’s most precious flower display
Would cheer a heart on the saddest day-
Colours and styles that breed at will
It humbles me , in silence, still !
The Brolgas dance on the western land
By lakes and swamps on the coarse red sand-
The black swan’s glide on the Lachlan Reach
Then preen themselves on the inland beach.
The setting sun in a backdrop bright
Five hundred pelicans trail in flight-
Across the blazing western skies
It’s painted forever on my eyes.
In the channel country the poppies grew
A humbling sight in that startling view-
With a man who had waited fifty years
From the saddle we saw his joy and tears.
For the rain had come and the heat was right
Creating Paradise overnight-
In silence grown men gazed in awe
To the four who dreamed it was heaven’s door.
The dust blows up and in my eyes
From “The Mulga Scrub” I have seen it rise-
High in the air and it blocked the sun
And none knew why and none could run.
It lifted o’er the land so free
And drifted across the Tasman sea –
Rich red dust on a crisp white bed
It turned the snow on the mountains red.
Oh, heart of a brooding weathered land
Beating for those who understand-
But, bleeding because of those who don’t
And dying because of those who won’t.
Fragile, special and sacred place
If we care about her we must face
the task at hand and the cancer halt
Or watch her drown in a sea of salt.
In firelight glow at the Bulloo’s bend
Where the sickest soul can heal and mend-
Like a steady flow of Muscat-wine
Where the spirits meet and their hearts entwine.
And dance with the tree-tops in the light
Like diamond tips on a moonlight night-
Bitterness gone and the anger too
With an ancient robe, it will cover you.
The ‘ Red Road ’ runs through every heart
And it beckons you to make a start-
Wondering whether you will decide
To take that long enduring ride
Come; lay your swag by the Sandalwood
When the air is fresh and the feeling good-
You are welcome with your heavy load
Stop and dream by the long Red Road .
© Roderick Williams. Sept 2000.
Would you like to be a featured poet?
I am very keen to hear from other bush poets who would like to feature in the newsletter. It's a great way to become known to a wider audience than you maybe already and an opportunity to promote yourself, your work and your products. Simply email me a photo, a biography and one poem to appear in the newsletter.
Events & Competitions
Rather than post all details of events and competitions in the newsletter, please go to the pages on the site at www.johnstaufferbooks.com . You can also have a look at the Bush Verse Contacts page on the site for a listing of regular events in your area and what clubs you might like to join.
If you know of a particular event, please simply post it on the Message Board at the Bush Verse website and I will transfer it to the Events pages.
Your Chance To Win
Win what - you may well ask, and the answer is simply fame and glory. Simply write a poem on the theme of an Australian Christmas and post it on the Message Board at the Bush Verse site. All poems submitted will be judged by an anonymous bush poet (and I can assure you it isn't me) and the winner announced in the next edition of the newsletter.
Copyright Information
© The entire content of this newsletter is Copyright of Bushsong and is not to be published or reproduced without permission. The copyright of any poems published in this newsletter remains that of the author and are also not to be published, reproduced or performed without the authors permission.
Subscription Information
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