James Martin Devaney
James Martin Devaney, poet, novelist, journalist and teacher, was born on 31 May 1890 at Sandhurst, Victoria, fourth child of Patrick Devaney, a labourer from Ireland, and his native-born wife Mary, née Conroy. Educated at Bendigo and at St Joseph's College, Hunters Hill, Sydney, in 1904 James entered the college's Marist Brothers' juniorate. In 1915 he made his final vows and took the religious name Fabian Joseph. Trained as a teacher, from 1911 he successively served in schools in Sydney, South Australia and New Zealand. Brother Fabian contracted severe tuberculosis and returned to Sydney in 1919 to teach at Darlinghurst. His Superior so relentlessly opposed adequate medical treatment ... more »
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James Martin Devaney Poems
The Frog Pool
Week after week it shrank and shrank as the fierce drought fiend drank and drank, till on the bone-dry bed revealed the mud peeled;
Oh, came you up by the place of dread (west red, and the moon low down) where no winds blow and the birds have fled
Leaning against the wind across the paddock ways comes Dan home with forward stoop like a man bent and old,
Dirrawan the Song-Maker
Dirrawan went into the bush to spear waat, but he forgot about waat the red wallaby. he thought about dirridirri the small bird and deereeree the wagtail he thought about wonning the lightning and tumberumba the thunder.
I will be your stay When the feet falter. I will be your stay When the tears blind.
Because I went the lone ways Among the tall trees, Because I loved the blue days, The bird melodies
The tufted gums along the rise Stand black against the evening skies. And in the red west sombreing As daylight dies,
Comments about James Martin Devaney
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
(26 April 1564 - 23 April 1616)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(31 May 1819 - 26 March 1892)
(16 August 1920 – 9 March 1994)
The Frog Pool
Week after week it shrank and shrank
as the fierce drought fiend drank and drank,
till on the bone-dry bed revealed
the mud peeled;
but now tonight is steamy-warm,
heavy with hint of thunderstorm.
And hark! hark! hoarse and harsh
the throaty croak of the frogs in the marsh:
"Wake! wake! awake! awake!
The drought break!"
but no, that chorus seems to me
more a primeval harmony.
The thunder booms, the floods flow
blended with deeper din below,
and every time the skies crash
the swamps flash!
and the whole place will be tonight