Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, THE WHALER'S ODYSSEY, by C. H. WINTER



Poetry Explorer

Classic and Contemporary Poetry

THE WHALER'S ODYSSEY, by                    
First Line: I met him on the lachlan side
Last Line: When he pursued that gundaroo!
Alternate Author Name(s): Riverina
Subject(s): Language; Story-telling; Travel; Whales; Words; Vocabulary; Journeys; Trips


I MET him on the Lachlan side,
A nomad of the western crew;
His whiskers round his waist were tied,
For they were long—his Molong, too.
He gazed with eyes that searched the past
Through corks that dangled in a veil;
And from a store of memories vast
Unloaded this peculiar tale.

"I mind the year—'twas 'Ninety-four—
When first Weeopened Bogan Gate
(We'd closed the blanky Bungendore)
An' me an' Paroo Jack, my mate,
'Ad formed a big Cargellico
Amongst a Lotto coves we knoo
To find out where did Dorrigo
While chasin' that there Gundaroo.

"It's Odyar never heard of it—
'Twas Oberon the Condamine.
We couldn't get a clue to fit,
So Wee Waa bushed all down the line.
Then we went Gunning for a pot,
As we were Broke an' Gonn an' done;
We saw Young Cunnamulla shot—
It must ha' Bena Barringun!

"Ah, lad, a hungry time we struck
Along Byrock an' Bylong roads.
We'd not enough to Byaduk,
An' 'ardly strength to 'ump our loads.
It knocked poor Dirranbandi, an'
Old Sandy Hollow; for, yer see,
We lived on Coonabarabran,
An' Hay, an' Bunnan Capertee.

"We let Condobolin the joke
An' Trida lot o' points he knoo.
An' then we struck a Bigga bloke—
A Coolamon than me or you.
'E seemed a likely sorter dag—
'Wilcannia do the trick?' says I;
'You look a Mogil of the swag,
A kind o' clever Gundagai.'

"'Just Waitawhile,' 'e answers gruff,
'Euabalong an' weary lead.'
(We Adelong one right enough!)
'You'll Nevertire if you take 'eed
An' fix them swags horsecollar way—
Roll 'em out long an' Bendemeer,
I Barham short. Uralla stray;
Urana risk with dumpy gear.

" 'You've Picton me, so Cooma long.
No Laggan for a Nowra so.
Just Toombalup an' foot it strong,
We'll soon find where did Dorrigo.
Don't dream of Millie or of Maude;
Barellan, too, an' Nim'tabel.
Cuddell your swags instead,' he jawed—
Behind 'im in a group we fell.

"There came a Breeza 'pon our face
While Moonan past the One Tree (ah,
I always likes a Coolah place—
Especially a Coolabah!)
Then heavy rain the blacksoil smote;
We sank in claypans to the thigh,
'Twould surely Boggabilla goat—
'Twas bad enough to Boggabri!

"It Warren fair! That Burleigh coot
Trundled us on without a spell
Through miles o' plain, an' Parkes ter boot—
It gave poor old Morangorell!
The Grenfell too, while black as pitch
Night drove across the gloomy sky,
And winds wailed like a Yarrowitch
As we watched 'im an' Mungindi.

"That settled it! We dropped our swags
An' camped till morn broke clear and fine;
An' when the leader damned our rags
We slung 'im down a Narromine.
'E's down there Yetman, I've no doubt,
Among the nuggets an' the sludge—
Some day, perhaps, I'll dig 'im out,
I ain't the cove to bear a grudge."

He sank to silence where he sat,
That whiskered nomad of the west.
I could not gather more than that—
Although I begged to learn the rest.
Now nights of restlessness I know
Trying to work the problem through:
I wonder where did Dorrigo
When he pursued that Gundaroo!





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