The Poets Themselves
These days it might be said that poetry is really the medium by which poets communicate with each other. That is, basically only poets read poetry, and then only so much as they need to write their own poetry.
Even more uncharitably, it might be said that many poets' chief subject matter is themselves. Early Queensland poets were no more immune to this tendency than poets today. However, what they had to say about themselves is of course interesting to readers today.
Please click on the poem titles below to read about early Queensland poets, in their own words.
"A New Shirt" Why?
by Paul Grano ‘A new shirt!’ Why? I have a shirt-two-three! worn a bit, not many days to them, nor perhaps to me. Soon earth’ll have one of them, my...
by Arthur Wade I am sitting in my office, in my office all alone, Listening to the tramcars and the city's distant drone; I've a pile of letters...
by June Saunders I ride upon a crest exultantly! In this triumphal perilous poise upon The high white foam peak of my ecstasy I banish memories of...
by Frank Francis When I have died build me no monument But let the natural grasses shroud my grave, With salt winds of the sea to meet the tang Of...
If I am blind
by Gwen Belson-Taylor If I am ever blind, I shall have seen A jacaranda tree Gem-crowned with amethyst, in symphony With the startled blue of new...
Ten of Us
by Francis Kenna Ten of us, eager as men may be, Rode through the night to the distant sea. One of us riding with reins held slack, Stumbled and...
The Child I Was is Still in Me
The Child I Was is Still in Me By Colin Bingham The child I was is still in me; I know it when above the plain the fork-tailed hawk expectantly turns...
The Seventh Child
From The Seventh Child I am the seventh child And my parents loved me well; They gave me the silver of seven stars- And the chime of a crystal bell. My...
by Llywelyn Lucas When Betelgeuse holds out her shining hand Across the hundreds of her years of light, I marvel that I should be here at gaze Upon the...
Why I am Poor
by A. A. Bayldon Because, my friends I have a savage glee In drinking to the dregs the draughts of life And love to feel my spirit spreading free, Stretching...