I'm lyin' on the barren ground that's baked and cracked with drought,
And dunno if my legs or back or heart is most wore out;
I've got no spirits left to rise and smooth me achin' brow --
I'm too knocked up to light a fire and bile the billy now.
Oh it's trampin', trampin', tra-a-mpin', in flies an' dust an' heat,
Or it's trampin' trampin' tra-a-a-mpin'
through mud and slush 'n sleet;
It's tramp an' tramp for tucker -- one everlastin' strife,
An' wearin' out yer boots an' heart in the wastin' of yer life.
They whine o' lost an' wasted lives in idleness and crime --
I've wasted mine for twenty years, and grafted all the time
And never drunk the stuff I earned, nor gambled when I shore --
But somehow when yer on the track yer life seems wasted more.
A long dry stretch of thirty miles I've tramped this broilin' day,
All for the off-chance of a job a hundred miles away;
There's twenty hungry beggars wild for any job this year,
An' fifty might be at the shed while I am lyin' here.
The sinews in my legs seem drawn, red-hot -- 'n that's the truth;
I seem to weigh a ton, and ache like one tremendous tooth;
I'm stung between my shoulder-blades -- my blessed back seems broke;
I'm too knocked out to eat a bite -- I'm too knocked up to smoke.
The blessed rain is comin' too -- there's oceans in the sky,
An' I suppose I must get up and rig the blessed fly;
The heat is bad, the water's bad, the flies a crimson curse,
The grub is bad, mosquitoes damned -- but rheumatism's worse.
I wonder why poor blokes like me will stick so fast ter breath,
Though Shakespeare says it is the fear of somethin' after death;
But though Eternity be cursed with God's almighty curse --
What ever that same somethin' is I swear it can't be worse.
For it's trampin', trampin', tra-a-mpin' thro' hell across the plain,
And it's trampin' trampin' tra-a-mpin' thro' slush 'n mud 'n rain --
A livin' worse than any dog -- without a home 'n wife,
A-wearin' out yer heart 'n soul in the wastin' of yer life.
I must say in all honesty I was never familiar with Lawson, but his poem is excellent. Living in and working in the great outback must have been the ultimate test of survival. Now we must wait for Pruchnicki to come and foul the water.
Henry Lawson remains one of the greatest reads in early Aussie Lit. A unique insight from a unique land and a time when an immigrant nation had already declared their metal at Lone Pine and ANZAC Cove, events that helped shape our two nations at Gallipoli. This spirit Lawson so well describes in 'Knockered Up' was embodied in the wild colonial boys who fought in the Dardanelles Campaign. The Aussie blood and bravery at Lone Pine, the large number of Victoria Crosses they won there, allowed the Auckland and Wellington rifles to finally take the high ground at Chunuk Bair, and hold it for several days, before the British Navy in error shelled and killed most of the last kiwi survivors, a military blunder kept secret until the 1980s and rarely discussed. This poems uses so many words that accurately fit the heat and suffering of those diggers on that exposed sun baked ground.
Soldiers identify with their country, more or less, what's more Aussie people had British Empire. Mr Lawson seemed to have only himself, more or less. It's true that drought is the same everywhere. He is a tremendous poet and a great discovery for an Italian, of course.
FIVE: The poem resonates with the weariness of a life marked by struggle, emphasizing the toll it takes on both body and spirit. It's a powerful exploration of endurance, resilience, and the human condition in the face of adversity
FOUR: I cite a few lines from the poem: "I'm lyin' on the barren ground that's baked and cracked with drought, And dunno if my legs or back or heart is most wore out; I've got no spirits left to rise and smooth me achin' brow - I'm too knocked up to light a fire and bile the billy now..
THREE: The barren landscape, the relentless journey, and the weariness of existence are all woven into the fabric of this poignant piece of Australian literature.
TWO: The central character, a woman, becomes a victim of this unforgiving environment, forced to bear the consequences of her actions alone. The poem captures the struggle, weariness, and physical exhaustion of a life spent trudging through adversity.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
This poem does nothing for me- nothing positive, that is.