ABPA - Australian Bush Poets Association

While we're on 'Clancy' parodies, the piece below is provided as a link to Peter Mace's post (under Events) about the cricket poetry prize. I've entered this competition for the last two years (hard to ignore a prize of $2000!) with traditional verse and been short-listed in the top 20, but got no further. Those interested can find last year's top 20 at: http://www.cricketartprize.org/cricket- ... s-of-2010/

It's an odd competition in that, although the initial short-listing is done by judges, the top 20 are narrowed to four based (at least partly) on audience response at a public reading by actors, and the final decision is also based on audience response at a later reading at the Sydney Cricket Ground. Last year's winning poem was a traditional piece by a Matt Young (anyone know him?) from Queensland...check it out on the website...and the winner in 2009 was free verse by Andy Kissane. 'Clancy of the Overthrow' was my 2010 entry.

Cheers
David

Clancy of the Overthrow
© David Campbell, 2010

I have always been a keeper as I don’t like fielding deeper,
’cause the outfield is a paddock where a bloke just has to run.
It’s the smartest place in cricket, right up there behind the wicket,
for an afternoon spent chasing isn’t my idea of fun.

But the quiet life I fancy is upset by bloody Clancy,
who’s a fiery young gun shearer with a lethal throwing arm.
Though we need him for his batting and the fact he brings the matting,
when he grabs the ball and hurls it he can really do some harm!

For he sets my old heart thumping while I’m stretching, diving, jumping,
as his thunderbolts come flying, far too high or way down low.
Still, perhaps one day he’ll chuck it and I’ll go and kick the bucket…
and he’ll grant me cricket heaven, Clancy of the overthrow.

(with apologies to A. B. ‘Banjo’ Paterson)

Hahahaha!!..love it David, leaves mine for dead

Sorry. Couldn't resist.


Clancy Of The Undertow

© Stephen Whiteside 1986

I had given him a tingle and, still thinking he was single,
I had rung him where I’d known him, at the Surf Life Saving Club.
I had not seen him for ages, not since all the sporting pages
Had hailed him as the “Iron Man”, as “Clanc - The Human Sub”.

And an answer faintly crackled as the public phone I tackled
(And I cursed the local vandals for the static and the fizz).
‘Twas his surfing mate who took it (though I may have quite mistook it)
He said, “Clancy’s met this sheila, and we don’t know where he is.”

In my wild aquatic fancy, visions come to me of Clancy
In the sunshine with his sheila as they stretch out on the beach,
And they view each foaming roller sipping rum and Coca Cola,
With coconuts and pineapples and grapes within their reach.

And their coastal friends all meet them, and daily they all greet them,
And they pour each other cocktails and they oil each other’s thighs,
And at night, for something new, they hold a beach-front barbecue,
And they dance around stark naked ‘neath the starry summer skies.

I am sitting in my boiling little office, slowly toiling
Through the “In” tray’s pile of paperwork, that now stands two feet tall,
While engine fumes infernal from combustion that’s internal
Come careering from exhaust pipes, spreading foulness over all.

And in place of roaring ocean, I can hear the damned commotion
Of the cars and trams and buses as they hurry down the street,
And the language uninviting of the angry drivers fighting
Comes wafting through my window, and I curse the city heat.

And the office people daunt me, and their dull expressions haunt me,
For their movements seem so futile, and their lives seem such a waste.
For they all seem so pathetic, so depressed and apathetic,
And their faces seem immobile, just as if in clay encased.

And I somehow rather fancy that I’d like to change with Clancy,
Like to take a turn at surfing, while he played the city fool,
And I’d drink and dance and sing, but I tell you, here’s the sting.
He’s moving up to town to find the kids a decent school!

You learn something new about people every day don't you? Thanks David. Love it, love it, love it!

Stephen you are such a dag. Couldn't stop laughing.

and Marty, ...... well, I'm pleased you know your place and whose in charge! Very funny.

Heather

Well ( Banjo) wrote a great poem called Clancy of the overflow which was fantastic just like Clancy’s great grand son Young Clancy he told just how much things have changed
And his girl friend wrote this letter


Clancy’s Grandson

In my wild exotic fantasies,
how I wish to be with Clancy!
In a bed roll there with Clancy,
beneath those everlasting stars.

So I had written him a letter,
cause I needed to know him better.
For there was movement in my belly,
seems the babe is soon to come.

And his answer came directed
for he knew I was expected.
So I waited at the church
As it was on that very day.

But Clancy’s not coming here!
And I dunno know where he are.
For he’s gone and left those mountains,
Where those randy stock men are.

And that mongrel how I hate im!
For his boss he quoted verbatim.
Now Clancy’s done a bunkum
and I dunno know where he are.

Now I wonder if his fancy
turned to that other Sheila Nancy.
And her being there with Clancy
while he’s drinking at the Bar.

And that nymphomaniac Nancy
with that randy mongrel Clancy.
And I got pregnant by that Clancy
in the back seat of his car.

Now I hate to say this Clancy.
You can stay with bloody Nancy.
Now for you I’ve got no fancy
and I don’t care! Where you are.

Bill the old battler

Good one Bill ...

I enjoy parodies, great fun

I have a question on parodies for David Campbell, I'll post it on the discussion page.