’69

Tags

Australian poet, Australian traditional poetry, Drought in Queensland, Formal poetry, Petrarchan sonnet, poem, poetry, Queensland dairy farms, sonnet, Vietnam War

‘69

The rains have come and washed away the dust.
The drought of ’68 is in the past.
The old man talks of selling-up at last —
Another drought like that and we’ll go bust.
Our worn-out ploughs are little more than rust.
The overdraft is climbing way too fast.
With falling prices for our milk forecast,
There’s little chance that we will earn a crust.

Dan’s back from Vietnam — he nearly died;
Was burning up — the Yanks packed him in ice.
War kills in different ways — the fever tried,
But some are not meant for the sacrifice.
He knows my thoughts, and so takes me aside —
Gives me his army boots — and his advice.

— D.N. O’Brien

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Beersheba

Tags

4th Light Horse Brigade, AIF, Australian Light Horse, Australian Slouch hat, Beersheba, Beersheba Charge, Bush Poetry, German Officers, Negev Desert, Ottoman Empire, poem, poetry, The Battle of Beersheba, The Charge at Beersheba, Turkish soldiers, Turks, World War One

𝐁𝐞𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐛𝐚

Faint rays falling on the horses and the host,
And the Officers of Germany are dreaming of the coast.
Desert day is dawning, the defenders are dug in.
Slouch-hatted soldier scrapes the salt-beef from the tin.
Turk stokes the withered wood, spreads palms towards the fire,
And wonders why there are no mines, and where is the barbed wire?
On drags the dreary day and late grows the hour —
Before the sun begins to set, a cry from the tower:
“There are cavalry towards the east, so danger’s close at hand!”
But the Officers of Germany, the Turks don’t understand.
The Officers of Germany are tired of sweat and sand.
The Officers of Germany are in a foreign land.
An Officer of Germany screams at the Turks: “You see!
They are but mounted infantry — they are not cavalry!”
Eight hundred horsemen, mounted tall, that is the spotter’s count.
Eight hundred infantry, that’s all — and they will all dismount.
The Officers of Germany have fallen for the ruse;
The Officers in Germany will read the dreadful news.
Scream the German officers: “Men, now hold your fire!”
The Turks can see the plain, the rising dust, and no barbed wire.
Come on the lines of horsemen, and too late the Turkish sons
See that the riders won’t dismount — they’re underneath the guns.
Eight hundred riders make the charge and all of them stay mounted,
Except those who from their mounts fall, and thirty one are counted.
Slung on their backs their rifles, and with bayonets held on high,
They reach the Turkish trenches as the Turks shoot at the sky.
And suddenly the fighting is all over — as before,
This blasted land, the blood-soaked sand that knows the ways of war,
This poor Beersheba, once again, gives up her precious wells,
Remembering the pounding hooves, gun shots and bursting shells.
And many Turks that night they find a cold and dusty bed,
And slouch hats top the rifles of the riders who are dead.
The lucky Turks are led away into captivity,
As are those splendid men, the Officers of Germany.

— D.N. O’Brien

Beersheba Charge

Resurrection: Ertugrul

Tags

Diriliş: Ertuğrul, Ertugrul, Kayi tribe, Netflix shows, Oghuz Turk, Osman I, Petrarchan sonnet, President Erdogan, Resurrection - Ertugrul, Turkish TV shows, Turkmen

Resurrection: Ertugrul

Ertugrul bey, you are as strong as steel.
No blade can blunt or block your slashing sword.
You are of all the Turks the greatest lord,
And all the other beys at your feet kneel.
And should one not, your dagger’s edge he’ll feel
Cold on his throat — he’ll gather no reward
In Heaven when his blood is spilled, outpoured
From severed veins. His martyrdom you’ll steal.

But having sung your praises now I say:
Why are the Templar and Byzantine Knights
You fight, such awful swordsmen? Not a scratch
Your Alps receive while killing them. Oh pray
Tell me, is this your dream? One-sided fights?
In dreams the strongest foes we all outmatch.

— D.N. O’Brien

The Netflix TV series “Resurrection: Ertugrul”, or to give it its Turkish name: “Diriliş: Ertuğrul” is a very entertaining, if perhaps somewhat inaccurate (as far as we know) portrayal of the Oghuz Turk hero and leader, Ertugrul of the Kayi tribe. His tribe had been driven out of present Kazakhstan, or maybe present day Iran, in the time of his father, Suleyman Shah, either by the Mongols or other Turkmen tribes.

Ertugral was the father of Osman I, the founder of the Ottoman Empire, and we know that because Osman I had coins minted showing Ertugrul as his father — virtually nothing else is known about Ertugrul.

Turkish folk law however, paints a very heroic and colourful picture of Ertugrul and his Kayi tribe, and it seems the writers of the TV series (5 series to date, each of some 90 episodes) have drawn from this rich source (plus their copious imaginations) to produce an action-packed, often bloody, and always profoundly Islamic spectacle.

The show is not just about Ertugrul of course. In the first series he is just one of two young brothers, sons of Suleyman Shah, but as time goes on he becomes the central character. There are other major characters — I won’t go into that here as the plots can be very complex, but suffice to say, there are good and evil Turks, evil Mongolians and Christians (yes pretty much only evil), and of course beautiful women (Turks and Christians). The Islamic scholar and mystic, Ibn Arabi, drifts in and out, and seems to have a personal interest in Ertugrul and his tribe. His long lectures to enraptured audiences can get a little painful at times, but there is the FF button on the remote.

The basic story outline is that the Turks are moving further into Anatolia and coming into contact with the Byzantine Empire frontier and this is resulting in clashes with the Christians. Initially the clashes are with Templar Knights and they are characterized as very evil indeed, but later the fighting is with the knights of the Byzantine Empire. At the same time they are having to fight off the advancing Mongols to the north and east. It is an imaginative prelude to Osman I establishing his initially quite small Ottoman Empire in Anatolia — an empire which would spread far and wide in the centuries following his death.

The acting is excellent, (I’ve never seen actresses who are better at crying than these Turkish women), the fighting (mainly sword-fighting, and I’ll come to that later in more detail) scenes are bloody and skillful, and the acrobatics of the guys who’ve just received a killer chop to the throat or chest, spectacular — I didn’t realize that a sword-fighter who receives such a blow does 2 or 3 midair spins before landing (awkwardly) or that a fighter receiving an arrow in the chest flies 6 feet off the ground — the stunt men are brilliant. The main actors themselves seem to do their own stunts, and their horse-riding skills are quite remarkable.

Ertugrul is usually accompanied by a small but incredibly skilled and deadly (and lucky) group. There are about 10 or so in the group but I’ll only mention 2 here, as the others tend to change from time to time as they are either killed (rare) or move on to somewhere else. These two are Turgut, a big handsome Alp (Alp is Turkish for hero) who swings his battle axe with deadly results, and Bamsi, a strange sort of bumbling but good-natured fellow who takes great delight in removing numerous infidel heads with his two swords. He finishes up the chief Alp of the Kayi tribe strangely enough.

I’ve seen this group and even fewer beat off and kill scores of Christian Knights without any of them suffering so much as a minor flesh wound. Their fighting skills have to be seen to be believed, (Or not believed). The skills of the Christian Knights (apart from their commanders) are pitifully inadequate, despite hours and hours of practice. On top of that they wear white robes with a great big red cross emblazoned in the center — a handy aiming point for a Turk arrow or scimitar.

I’m presently up to episode 28 of the 4th series and have noticed a gradual but interesting change in one particular aspect of the show. Perhaps you guessed it — religion.

The show is always very pro Islam and there’s no doubt of course that it is propaganda, but with each new series the Islamic component increases. The shouts of “Allahu Akbar!” increase greatly in number and frequency, and “Inshallah” becomes the most common word uttered. The Christians meanwhile are becoming more and more evil and the (good) Muslims more saintly and admirable.

Still, I guess it was made mainly for a Turkish audience and that country has plenty of problems. Maybe this is more than just TV; perhaps it is an attempt to instill pride in the Turkish people as a whole through Islam. Maybe insulting the non Muslims in Turkey is not a problem, and I guess if you really believe in the writings of the Koran and Islam’s other holy books — if you really believe that Muhammad rode to the seven heavens on a winged horse, plus all of his other miracles, you’re not going to be too worried about the feelings of a few billion people outside of Turkey.

From all accounts the further east one goes in Turkey the more religious, the more fundamentalist the people are, and the faster they are reproducing. The western Turks are generally much more moderate apparently, more Western, and like the West not doing much in the way of breeding — I dare say they are worried about being swamped by their eastern cousins. On top of that they have the Kurds and what’s left of ISIS and the Syrians, plus their own internal tribalism to worry about.

But if this show is anything to go by, if these Turks can really handle being outnumbered 10 to 1 and still win, then we had better watch out if they decide to resurrect their Empire, their Caliphate! After all, Ertugrul often talks of conquering the whole world in the name of Islam.

That said, it’s still a damn fine show! — I’ll bet President Erdogan doesn’t miss an episode.

— D.N. O’Brien

Sarah Island

Tags

Australian poet, Australian traditional poetry, Convicts in Australia, Macquarie cat, Macquarie Harbour, Penal settlements, poem, poetry, Sarah Island Tasmania, sonnet, Spenserian sonnet, Tasmania, Transportation of convicts, Transportation to Australia, Van Diemen's Land

Sarah Island

There are few signs that once this lonely isle
Was home to men of Empire and their slaves.
Just scattered bricks, worked stone, and shards of tile,
Remind us of when England ruled the waves.
But no doubt close at hand forgotten graves
Hold bones of some of those who trod this ground —
The convicts of The Crown, and other knaves,
Who for Macquarie Harbour once were bound;
And where they’d surely hear the dreaded sound
Of the “Macquarie Cat” — that fiendish whip.
Those men who died in chains and those who drowned,
Were payments made for every well-built ship.
“Hell’s Gates” the convicts called the harbour’s mouth —
Beyond it lay the Hades of the South.

— D.N.O’Brien

Sarah Island

1893

Tags

1893 Brisbane flood, 1893 flood, Crohamhurst Observatory, Flood mitigation dams, poem, poetry, Somerset Dam, Stanley River Queensland, Triolet

{On the 6th of February 1893 a cyclone brought torrential rains and destructive winds to South East Queensland. A second cyclone arrived on the 11th of February and a third on the 19th. In one 3 day period Crohamhurst Observatory near the head of the Stanley River, a major tributary of the Brisbane River, recorded 72 inches, or 6 feet of rain (a world record at that time). A huge amount of flood water came down the Stanley and poured into the already flooded Brisbane River causing a disastrous flood at the city of Brisbane. A third of Brisbane residents were left homeless and 35 people died. Following the flood it was decided that a dam was needed on the Stanley River for flood mitigation and water supply for Brisbane, but it was not until 1935 that construction began, and due to the war, the dam was not completed until 1954. In 1956 the Somerset Dam was officially named and opened. In January 1974 cyclone Wanda struck, and Brisbane suffered another devastating flood. In 1984 the Wivenhoe Dam on the Brisbane River was officially opened.}

1893

In 1893 down came the rains,
And there was quite a flood in Brisbane town.
Most fled to higher ground – for most had brains.
In 1893 down came the rains,
But year by year that memory it wanes.
Should all forget then one day more may drown.
In 1893 down came the rains,
And there was quite a flood in Brisbane town.

– D.N. O’Brien

{Photo shows children in the centre of Brisbane as the flood was subsiding}

Cemetery Road

Tags

Australian bush poetry, Australian poet, Australian traditional poetry, Bush Poetry, Formal poetry, poem, poetry

Cemetery Road

It formed our northern boundary –
A rough dirt track that wound up to
Some toppled tombstones on the top
Of a bare hill. Occasionally
We’d see a motor car or two
Drive slowly up the road and stop,

And out would get some people who
Would walk amongst the scattered stones
And by a grave then stop, and stand,
And bow their heads. They were the few
Who stood above the mouldering bones
Deep down – embracing soil and sand.

I guess they were the ones who’d known
The dead who’d long been buried there.
It seemed that way, for they were old –
The ones who walked that overgrown
Old graveyard, hats in hand, heads bare,
In summer’s heat or winter’s cold.

But that was long ago, now those
Who visited back then have flown;
And who they were we’ll never know,
Nor why they came, and I suppose
They’ve gone the way of flesh and bone.
But some are not forgotten, so –

Now Cemetery Road is black
With tar, and tourists come to see
Where lie those ancient pioneers.
Each stone repaired, no chip or crack
To mar a curiosity –
That long ago was wet with tears.

That Lazy N

Tags

Australian poet, Australian traditional poetry, Branding cattle, Branding irons, Brands, Brands -lazy letters, Bush Poetry, Formal poetry, poem, poetry

That Lazy N

It stood for Noel, that lazy N.
He passed it on to me back when
He had no cattle left to brand.
He said: “It’s yours”, and shook my hand.

I used it then for many years.
It branded cows, it branded steers.
In glowing coals was often fired;
But now the old iron is retired.

No longer will its letters sear
The heifer’s hide – the wild-eyed steer
Won’t bellow as with fire and spark
The red-hot metal makes its mark.

Now painted green, the brand is cold.
The last to use it hot grows old.
It rests there on its wooden stand.
There are no cattle left to brand.

{photo – D.N. O’Brien}

Alice

Tags

ANZUK Force, Australian poet, Australian traditional poetry, Avondale bar, Formal poetry, poem, poetry, Sembawang Strip, Singapore bar girls

Alice

Was in a bar, a dingy dive,
That Alice worked – just twenty five,
A bar girl, by grief driven mad.
A Yankee sailor, handsome lad,
She’d tell me was her absent beau:
“The ships are in – I want you go
And find him – bring him here to me.”
Each time this was her tearful plea.
And humour her, each time I would,
For in her heart the girl was good.

“He come – I know he will!” she’d cry.
“Alice, I’ve looked – not yet.” I’d lie.
Her son they’d taken from her breast;
Mad Alice never more would rest
Until she saw his father’s face.
At closing time she’d leave the place
And make her way through midnight’s gloom
Back to her wretched rented room,
And at her shrine, prayer candles burn;
And wait for her love’s safe return.

A Comforting Millstone

Tags

Australian poet, Australian traditional poetry, Identity politics, poem, poetry, resentment, Revisionist Historians, Self pity, Slave morality, Victim culture, Victim mentality

For the sins of the fathers no men should be whipped –
For the men who were murdered or slaves who were shipped;
But the sins be acknowledged, a lesson to learn,
Lest the sons be inclined to repeat them in turn.

And the sons of the slaves and the men who were killed
Must acknowledge that they are now free and free-willed;
That they owe naught to any, nor do any owe
For what’s passed, compensation – all claims to forgo.

Now the words writ above are but vain hopes and prayers.
History’s “victim”, a scowl on his countenance wears,
As he sinks neath a burden of self-imposed weight,
And he never will drop it – or wipe clean the slate.

The Melian Dialogue

Tags

Ancient Greece, Athenian Empire, Athens, Delian League, Greece, Italian sonnet, Melos, Peloponnesian League, Petrarchan sonnet, poem, poetry, Siege of Melos, sonnet, Sparta, Spartan, Spenserian sonnet, The Cyclades, The Melian Debate, The Melian Dialogue, The Peloponnese, The Peloponnesian War, Thucydides

The Melian Dialogue

Now Melians, consider what we ask:
Swear loyalty to us and none shall die.
For what’s transpired we’ll not take you to task;
But now surrender, lest our arrows fly.
Athenians – surrender? – tell us why?
Our city, in this war it takes no side,
Though it is true to Sparta we’ve a tie.
But you, so mighty – can it be denied
That Melos could not swell the Spartan tide?
We won’t accept your claimed neutrality,
For Spartan ships, your harbour they have plied.
We’ll have no truck with weak morality –
To conquer you is right; it would be wrong
To spare you – Athens must be seen as strong!

Would you alarm the other neutral states?
Will they not think it’s Athens they must fear?
Our friends and allies know we hold them dear.
Not one, we think, disloyalty contemplates;
To Sparta they will not open their gates.
But island states that are to Sparta near,
Towards which may those Spartan triremes steer;
Their destinies we’ll not leave to the Fates.
It would be shameful were we not to fight!
Oh no, not shameful – you would surely lose.
We are the stronger – you would all be slain.
But we believe there is a chance despite
Your strength, and so we feel that we must choose
To stand and fight – perhaps a victory gain!

The Spartans too will come to our defence.
Self-interested Spartans fight to win
A victory for you? – they have more sense!
They will, we think, for Spartans are our kin.
With them we share our ways – our discipline.
And too, the gods are on our side – we’ll fight!
The Spartans would not spread their ships so thin.
Our navy would put such a force to flight.
The gods will watch as weakness yields to might.
So one last time we ask you – make your choice.
Think of your people – make the one that’s right.
We men of Melos answer with one voice:
Return to Athens, tell them we’ll not yield!
Oh foolish Melos! – now your fate is sealed.

The Melian Dialogue