OUR BILL

[Bob Pacey]

oh shut up Bob.




Sorry just me best laugh I've had for ages


I've Got to go back to work


Bob

[Neville Briggs]

Marty, the reason I said rhyme is optional, (as you said optional in general practice) is to make the case that rhyme is a minor issue, and in the bush poetry, writing rhyme is usually managed reasonably well. But poetry, all poetry, is metric writing according to Stephen Fry. Not so easy to understand well and unfortunately there are bush poetry writers who do not manage the metre very well at all. I study it carefully but it still is a difficult process for me.
Look up William McGonagall, The Tay Bridge Disaster and you will find out what I am talking about.

here's a sample from that poem .

When the train left Edinborough
The passengers' hearts were light and felt no sorrow,
But Boreas blew a terrific gale,
Which made their hearts for to quail,
And many of the passengers did say -
'I hope God will send us safe across the bridge of Tay'

Perfect rhyme but the metre is hopelessly inept.
So I think that discussing or analysing rhyme is not very useful, but analysing and discussing metric structure is most important.

Stephen, Contrary to what some might think,. I actually enjoy the spirit and fun of bush poetry, I just wish we could sometimes be more flexible in thinking about the issues.

Maureen. Maybe Bill was never married before, perhaps that could explain his robust health in old age, no stress

And finally, I reckon that the spirit, the passion, the authentic feeling and voice, trump all the technical niceties, if that is what it takes to make poetry.

[Stephen Whiteside]

Neville, I don't really have a problem with your last statement, but I'm not sure how it applies to the poem you have placed here. If it was a powerful, substantial expression of a torrent of passion, I agree, we could make some allowance for technical imperfections, but I don't really think, with respect, your poem can be said to be that. It is of itself fairly slight. The sentiments expressed are sincere enough without being especially profound, and it has a cute, unexpected ending - it's as much a joke as anything. It would almost work better as a piece of prose that was not pretending to be a poem. If it had a tight structure of rhyme and metre it would have greater general appeal, I reckon. As it stands now, I'm not sure it has a hell of a lot going for it - neither fish nor foul. Having said that, I am sure you could say similar things about much of the stuff I post but, for me, your defence just not cut it. Sorry, but that's just the way I see it.

[r.magnay]

..hey Doc, should that be fowl...or are you playing with words now?

[Stephen Whiteside]

I know we shouldn't meddle with each other's poetry, but in this case I just couldn't resist. Sorry.

Bill was a horseman, a bush drover too,
Far away from his boyhood in Woolloomooloo.
He learnt by the camp-fires, from handwritten sheets,
A fistful of Lawson, a smatter of Keats.
He learnt the old poetry, line upon line,
And earned some renown - a reciter quite fine.
Now at eighty-five years, the penultimate hour,
He's fallen at last to a strange, higher power.
Yes, it's true, folks, just as sure as I speak,
Our horseman, our drover got married last week!

It's certainly nothing brilliant, but I prefer it. I think it would be even better if I could find a rather more inventive rhyme pattern, and perhaps I will eventually, but it will do for now.

[Stephen Whiteside]

Triplets are fun.

Bill was a horse-man, a bush drover too,
Far away from his boyhood in Woolloomooloo.
He learnt by the camp-fires (with wallaby stoo)
From handwritten sheets both Banjo and Henory;
Studied them, filed them away in his memory;
Bought a TV and discovered Dick Emery.
Eighty five now, though he's still at his peak,
Fin'lly succumbed to a sacred mystique.
Took himself out and got married last week!

[Neville Briggs]

I fully agree Stephen, you have rightly said my piece is only slight and just a bit of a joke.
Yes , the expression is not profound, but as far as I can tell, there are no technical imperfections.

The discussion that came after, prompted me to give out some of my thoughts on poetic aspirations, not all thoughts necessarily an apologetic of that particular piece.

Your version makes an interesting comparison.

[Stephen Whiteside]

No, you make a fair point, there are no technical imperfections, but there are not very many technical niceties, either. It is what it is, which is fair enough. I'm glad you have not taken offence at my interfering ways.

[Stephen Whiteside]

Bill was no fool.
He had been to a school
In the suburb of Woolloomooloo.
He rode on a horse
As a matter of course
As many old Aussies might do.

He travelled the land
And he saw vistas grand
While living the life of a drover.
Bush ballads inspire
By the light of the fire,
And he reckoned that he was in clover.

He's now eighty five
And feels very alive,
Succumbing to sacred mystique.
It all happened quick.
He met a sweet chick,
Went out and got married last week!

Guess I'm getting a bit carried away now.

[Neville Briggs]

Stephen, it's got hold of you. Maybe it's more profound than you think

Good on you Matt. So glad to hear from you.