"The Tame Bird was in a Cage" by Rabindranath Tagore (1861-1941)

"The Tame Bird was in a Cage"

                                  by Rabindranath Tagore (1861-1941)

The tame bird was in a cage, the free bird was in the forest.

They met when the time came, it was a decree of fate.

The free bird cries, “O my love, let us fly to the wood”.

The cage bird whispers, “Come hither, let us both live in the cage”.

Says the free bird, “Among bars, where is there room to spread one's wings?”

“Alas”, cries the caged bird, “I should not know where to sit perched in the sky”.

 

The free bird cries, “My darling, sing the songs of the woodlands”.

The cage bird sings, “Sit by my side, I'll teach you the speech of the learned”.

The forest bird cries, “No, ah no! songs can never be taught”.

The cage bird says, “Alas for me, I know not the songs of the woodlands”.

 

There love is intense with longing, but they never can fly wing to wing.

Through the bars of the cage they look, and vain is their wish to know each other.

They flutter their wings in yearning, and sing, “Come closer, my love!”

The free bird cries, “It cannot be, I fear the closed doors of the cage”.

The cage bird whispers, “Alas, my wings are powerless and dead”. 

No More Boomerang by Kath Walker (OodgerooNoonuccal) Poem

No More Boomerang by Kath Walker (OodgerooNoonuccal)

No more boomerang no more spear,
Now all civilised colour bar and beer,
No more corroboree gay dance and din,
Now we got movies and pay to go in.

No more sharing what the hunter brings,
Now we work for money and pay it back for things,
Now we track bosses to catch a few bob,
Now we go walkabout on bus to the job.

One time naked who never knew shame,
Now we put clothes on to hide whatsaname.
No more gunyah now bungalow,
Paid by hire purchase in twenty years or so.

Lay down the stone axe take up the steel,
Work like a nigger for a white man’s meal,
No more firestick that made whites scoff,
Now all electric and no better off.

Bunyip he finish got now instead,
White-fella bunyip call him red.
Abstract pictures now, what they coming at?
Cripes in our caves we did better than that.

Black hunted wallaby, white hunt dollar.
White-fella witch-doctor wear dog collar.
No more message lubras and lads,
Got television now, mostly ads.

Lay down the woomera, lay down the waddy,
No we got atom bomb. End everybody.

“The Canadian Authors” Meet by F.R.Scott Essay Prepared for my UG English Students

“The Canadian Authors” Meet by F.R.Scott

Prepared by Dr.Suresh Frederick

“The Canadian Authors Meet” is a satirical poem by F.R.Scott. Francis Reginald Scott (1899-1985), commonly known as Frank Scott or F. R. Scott, was a Canadian poet, intellectual and constitutional expert. He was the son of Frederick George Scott, a well-known Canadian poet and author, known as the Poet of the Laurentians. Here in this poem, the poet makes fun of pseudo-Canadian poets.

A group of Canadian authors meet in a large and comfortable hall. These writers are bloated with pride. They have gathered under “a portrait of the Prince of Wales”. This shows how these so-called writers are still parasites and are in need of patronage from Britain. In the gathering, there is one Miss.Crotchet. Crotchet in music is a note having one-fourth the time value of a whole note. This may mean that Miss.Crotchet is a minor poet, negligible writer and a literary non-entity. Her “muse has somehow failed to function”.  The Muse in Greek mythology is the goddess of music, song and dance, and the source of inspiration to poets. Thus Miss.Crotchet never had the inspiration to write poetry, “Yet she’s a poetess”. The underlying irony is evident in this observation of the poet.

Smiling expansively, Miss.Crotchet moves “From group to chattering group”. To cover her incompetence, she smiles in an affected way. “Victorian saintliness” “is her fashion” as she is a snob. The meeting hall is filled with many more insignificant writers. Miss.Crotchet greets these “unknowns with a cheer” – unknown to her as well as unknown to the world. Like virgins, these authors lack in exposure and experience. It is ironic that they should speak of love and passion, especially when they are all above sixty.

These writers talk on “Canadian topics” which are boring and uninteresting. They also discuss great poets like Bliss Carman, Archibald Lampman, Charles G.D. Roberts, William Wilfred Campbell and Frederick George Scott / Duncan Campbell Scott. These men are all very influential Canadian poets, who wrote Victorian and Romantic poetry, something to which Scott was opposed. But they are not measured for their literary merits but for their religious faith and charity. “Their zeal for God and King” and “their earnest thought” alone are discussed. These are peripheral issues which are non-literary attainments. Scott emphatically criticizes the paraliterary considerations used by these half-baked authors in judging poets and their works.

Scott describes the party which is overflowing with cakes. The cakes are sweet but for them, sweeter is the feeling of mixing with the literary men. It “warms” these old writers. The sentimental ones melted most early. Literary flavour is lacking in this “most delightful party”.

For these self-styled writes, there is no difference between a simple Nursery school rhyme like “Shall we go round the mulberry bush” or the Christian hymn “Shall we gather at the river”. Their motive is to find a private place for their private affairs, that can be behind a “mulberry bush” or on the banks of a “river” The appointment of a Poet Laureate is spoken in the same breath as having another cup of tea. It is ironic that these poets should feel competent enough to select the Poet Laureate. Everything non-literary happens here.

After lampooning these fake writers, Scott moves on to criticize the plethora of mediocre new writers who emerge on the Canadian literary scene. In anguish, he cries out “O Canada, O Canada”. Scott in clear hues presents how these ordinary writers “paint the native maple” (Country – Canada) with substandard writing. (The maple leaf is the most widely recognized national symbol of Canada). These writers repeat the ideas of their predecessors. Nothing is new in their writing as same things are duplicated. 

DR.SURESH FREDERICK
Associate Professor & UG Head
Department of English
Bishop Heber College
Tiruchirappalli - 620 017
Tamil Nadu, India.

An Aboriginal Mother’s Lament by Charles Harpur - Essay Prepared for my UG English Students - Dr.Suresh Frederick

An Aboriginal Mother’s Lament by Charles Harpur

 (Essay Prepared for my UG English Students - Dr.Suresh Frederick)

Introduction:

“An Aboriginal Mother’s Lament” is a poem written by Charles Harpur. This is written in the form of a dramatic monologue. Charles Harpur (1813-1868) was an outstanding Australian poet in the early days of Australia. In this poem, Harpur brings out the plight of an aboriginal mother. The words “aboriginal” and “aborigine” are used by the invaders to designate the indigenous people of Australia.

In this poem, “An Aboriginal Mother’s Lament”, Harpur presents the plight of an aboriginal mother. The aboriginal mother is escaping from the murderous white people, with her child, who is just a toddler. She has to go still some more distance, so that she can be safe from the “unsparing” white men. The white men’s hands are wet with murder. The mother carries her child unnoticed by the white men into the dark forest. She treads on, even though thorns pierce her feet, in the darkness.

“O moan not …..” is like a refrain in a song. Moaning is a low sound made by a person expressing physical or mental suffering. The mother is also suffering along with the boy, mentally and physically, but she prefers to console the child first. She says that she is willing even to part with “the braid”, which was given to her as a gift by her deceased husband, so that she can get a “palmful of water” for her child. Here the poet presents the plight of the aboriginal mother, whose only objective is to save her child.

The baby jumps up in happiness, when he hears his father’s name. But the mother asks the baby not to “spring”, on hearing his father’s name, because he is no more. The father is “smouldered” into ashes under the “blasted gum”. He has been killed and his body is charred and blasted by the fire. In that very big fire, he was slaughtered along with his relatives.

The mother feels that, she would have also died with her husband, but she has to live only for the sake of her small child. She urges her child to listen to the death cry. She wants to escape from these bloodthirsty people. She is unable to forget her husband who died bleeding on the roaring fire.

              The mother recollects her husband’s fame. Now, no one can hear the loud noise made by him with the thomahawk (a type of axe used by the natives of Australia) in his hand. Now, none can see his ability to use the spear, because, he was killed brutally by the white men. His leadership in the family and to the community is lost. His hunting call will not be echoed in the mountain, any more.

             At last, the mother finds hope in the child. She is willing to barter the valuable braid given by her beloved husband to save her child by getting him a “palmful of water”.

Conclusion:

“An Aboriginal Mother’s Lament” is full of pathos (a quality that evokes pity or sadness). This poem also expresses maternal love as well as love for the spouse.