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Showing posts with label Poet: John O'Brien. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Poet: John O'Brien. Show all posts

Tangmalangaloo -- John O'Brien

Guest poem sent in by William Grey
(Poem #1795) Tangmalangaloo
 The bishop sat in lordly state and purple cap sublime,
 And galvanized the old bush church at Confirmation time.
 And all the kids were mustered up from fifty miles around,
 With Sunday clothes, and staring eyes, and ignorance profound.
 Now was it fate, or was it grace, whereby they yarded too
 An overgrown two-storey lad from Tangmalangaloo?

 A hefty son of virgin soil, where nature has her fling,
 And grows the trefoil three feet high and mats it in the spring;
 Where mighty hills uplift their heads to pierce the welkin's rim,
 And trees sprout up a hundred feet before they shoot a limb;
 There everything is big and grand, and men are giants too --
 But Christian Knowledge wilts, alas, at Tangmalangaloo.

 The bishop summed the youngsters up, as bishops only can;
 He cast a searching glance around, then fixed upon his man.
 But glum and dumb and undismayed through every bout he sat;
 He seemed to think that he was there, but wasn't sure of that.
 The bishop gave a scornful look, as bishops sometimes do,
 And glared right through the pagan in from Tangmalangaloo.

 "Come, tell me, boy," his lordship said in crushing tones severe,
 "Come, tell me why is Christmas Day the greatest of the year?
 "How is it that around the world we celebrate that day
 "And send a name upon a card to those who're far away?
 "Why is it wandering ones return with smiles and greetings, too?"
 A squall of knowledge hit the lad from Tangmalangaloo.

 He gave a lurch which set a-shake the vases on the shelf,
 He knocked the benches all askew, up-ending of himself.
 And so, how pleased his lordship was, and how he smiled to say,
 "That's good, my boy. Come, tell me now; and what is Christmas Day?"
 The ready answer bared a fact no bishop ever knew --
 "It's the day before the races out at Tangmalangaloo."
-- John O'Brien
This is a Christmas poem by my favourite Australian bush poet: Patrick
Joseph Hartigan (1878-1952) who published under the alias "John O'Brien".
The poem immortalises an incident that took place at a school at
Tanbangaroo, a "Back-o'-Bourke" town (see notes to [1]), near Yass in New
South Wales. Tangmalangaloo is a fictitious town, presumably invented to
serve the poet's prosodic requirements.

Hartigan was a Roman Catholic priest in rural New South Wales, in particular
the Goulburn diocese and later at Narrandera. He is less well known than
Banjo Paterson[2] and Henry Lawson[3][4], the doyens of the Australian
bush ballad tradition, though he expresses a closer and gentler affinity for
the Australian bush and its communities than either of them. Hartigan has
another connection with Paterson: he gave the last rites to Jack Riley of
Bringenbrong, the man whose legendary exploits are supposedly recorded in
Paterson's epic bush ballad 'The Man from Snowy River'.

According to legend, Hartigan was in the Albury presbytery in 1914 when word
came through that an old man named Riley was dying at a place called
Bringenbong on the Upper Murray, and had asked for a priest to bring him the
last sacraments. It took Hartigan several days to reach Riley, who he found
not at Bringenbong but at a place called Hickeys, in sight of Mt Kosciusko
at the end of the track. After administering the sacraments it was too late
for Hartigan to return to Albury, so he gratefully accepted local
hospitality and, in front of a blazing log fire, recited one of his
favourite poems, 'The Man From Snowy River'. After he had finished he
remarked that it must have been in these parts that the man from Snowy River
had made his famous ride. To his astonishment the laconic reply came that
the subject of Paterson's poem was none other than Riley, the old man he had
just prepared for death.

Hartigan was known as an ecumenist and was greatly respected for his
pastoral care, particularly during the Great Depression, for those of all
faiths and none. 'Tangmalangaloo' was published in [5]. A second collection
of his poetry [6], honouring his Narrandera parishioners, was published
posthumously.

William Grey

[1] Poem #1573, 'Said Hanrahan',  John O'Brien
[2] Poem #566, 'Clancy of the Overflow',  Banjo Paterson
[3] Poem #569, ' The Great Grey Plain',  Henry Lawson
[4] Poem #1569, 'Past Carin',  Henry Lawson
[5] John O'Brien. 'Around the Boree Log and Other Verses'. Sydney: Angus &
Robertson, 1921.
[6] John O'Brien. 'The Parish of St. Mel's and Other Verses'. Sydney: Angus
& Robertson, 1954.

Said Hanrahan -- John O'Brien

Guest poem sent in by William Grey
(Poem #1572) Said Hanrahan
 "We'll all be rooned," said Hanrahan,
   In accents most forlorn,
 Outside the church, ere Mass began,
   One frosty Sunday morn.

 The congregation stood about,
   Coat-collars to the ears,
 And talked of stock, and crops, and drought,
   As it had done for years.

 "It's looking crook," said Daniel Croke;
   "Bedad, it's cruke, me lad,
 For never since the banks went broke
   Has seasons been so bad."

 "It's dry, all right," said young O'Neil,
   With which astute remark
 He squatted down upon his heel
   And chewed a piece of bark.

 And so around the chorus ran
   "It's keepin' dry, no doubt."
 "We'll all be rooned," said Hanrahan,
   "Before the year is out."

 "The crops are done; ye'll have your work
   To save one bag of grain;
  From here way out to Back-o'-Bourke
   They're singin' out for rain.

 "They're singin' out for rain," he said,
   "And all the tanks are dry."
 The congregation scratched its head,
   And gazed around the sky.

 "There won't be grass, in any case,
   Enough to feed an ass;
 There's not a blade on Casey's place
   As I came down to Mass."

 "If rain don't come this month," said Dan,
   And cleared his throat to speak --
 "We'll all be rooned," said Hanrahan,
   "If rain don't come this week."

 A heavy silence seemed to steal
   On all at this remark;
 And each man squatted on his heel,
   And chewed a piece of bark.

 "We want an inch of rain, we do,"
   O'Neil observed at last;
 But Croke "maintained" we wanted two
   To put the danger past.

 "If we don't get three inches, man,
   Or four to break this drought,
 We'll all be rooned," said Hanrahan,
   "Before the year is out."

 In God's good time down came the rain;
   And all the afternoon
 On iron roof and window-pane
   It drummed a homely tune.

 And through the night it pattered still,
   And lightsome, gladsome elves
 On dripping spout and window-sill
   Kept talking to themselves.

 It pelted, pelted all day long,
   A-singing at its work,
 Till every heart took up the song
   Way out to Back-o'-Bourke.

 And every creek a banker ran,
   And dams filled overtop;
 "We'll all be rooned," said Hanrahan,
   "If this rain doesn't stop."

 And stop it did, in God's good time;
   And spring came in to fold
 A mantle o'er the hills sublime
   Of green and pink and gold.

 And days went by on dancing feet,
   With harvest-hopes immense,
 And laughing eyes beheld the wheat
   Nid-nodding o'er the fence.

 And, oh, the smiles on every face,
   As happy lad and lass
 Through grass knee-deep on Casey's place
   Went riding down to Mass.

 While round the church in clothes genteel
   Discoursed the men of mark,
 And each man squatted on his heel,
   And chewed his piece of bark.

 "There'll be bush-fires for sure, me man,
   There will, without a doubt;
 We'll all be rooned," said Hanrahan,
   "Before the year is out."
-- John O'Brien
Notes:
  John O'Brien was the nom de plume of Patrick Joseph Hartigan (1878-1952),
  born in Yass, New South Wales. He was a Roman Catholic priest in the Goulburn
  diocese and later parish priest at Narrandera -- also rural towns in New
  South Wales.

Banjo Paterson and Henry Lawson are better (indeed the best) known names in the
Australian bush ballad tradition. Paterson ('Clancy of the Overflow', Poem
#566; 'The Man from Snowy River') and Lawson ('The Great Grey Plain', Poem
#569;
'Sweeney') however celebrate (or in Lawson's case lament -- see 'Past
Carin' ', Poem #1569) the Australian bush in a very different vein. Paterson
and
Lawson are city voices dreaming about, or meditating on, the bush while
detached from it living in the city. O'Brien, in comparison, is gentler and
indeed tenderly affectionate toward Australia's harsh brown land and its
seasonal cycles. O'Brien's poems are deeply and lovingly embedded in the
farming life of the Irish community in rural Australia, of which he was a part.

'Said Hanrahan' paints a wonderful portrait of Australian-Irish bush culture,
together with its church, the land, the climate and the seasons which
constitute its core. Hanrahan (a quintessentially Irish name) expresses
unconquerable Irish pessimism about the prospects down on the farm. (Hanrahan
has a point however: the lush growth from spring rain can indeed dry out into
fuel which poses a serious fire risk in summer.)

'Said Hanrahan', I think, is readily accessible to non-Australians but here are
a couple of notes:
'rooned' is Australian-Irish pronunciation of 'ruined';
'never since the banks went broke' refers to the turbulent 1890s which were bad
drought years and also when (in the absence of a central bank) nearly all the
land banks and building societies and 12 of the 22 trading banks went broke,
following the collapse of an intense property boom.
'Back-o'-Bourke' is an Australian colloquialism for being just about anywhere
in the vast and sparsely populated heartland of bush Australia;
'every creek a banker ran' means that the rivers overflowed.

'Said Hanrahan' was published in Around the Boree Log and Other Verses (1921).

William Grey