Wednesday, December 21, 2005

Clancy of the Overflow


Another very popular A.B. (Banjo)
Paterson poem


Clancy of the Overflow


I had written him a letter which I had for want of better

Knowledge, sent to where I met him down the Lachlan years ago;

He was shearing when I knew him, so I sent the letter to him

Just ‘on spec’, addressed as follows; “Clancy of the Overflow.”


And an answer came directed in a writing unexpected,

(And I think the same was written with a thumbnail dipped in tar);

“Twas his shearing mate who wrote it, and verbatim I will quote it;

“Clancy’s gone to Queensland droving, and we don’t know where he are.


In my wild erratic fancy visions come to me of Clancy

Gone a-droving down the Cooper, where the western drovers go;

As the stock are slowly stringing, Clancy rides behind them singing,

For the drovers life has pleasures that the townsfolk never know.


And the bush hath friends to meet him, and their kindly voices greet him

In the murmur of the breezes and the river on it’s bars,

And he sees the vision splendid of the sunlit plains extended,

And at night the wondrous glory of the everlasting stars.


I am sitting in my office, where a stingy

Ray of sunlight struggles feebly down between the houses tall,

And the foetid air and gritty of the dusty, dirty city

Through the open window floating, spreads it’s foulness over all.


And in place of lowing cattle, I can hear the fiendish rattle

Of the tramways and the buses making hurry down the street,

And the language uninviting of the gutter children fighting,

Comes fitfully and faintly through the ceaseless tramp of feet.


And the hurrying people daunt me, and their pallid faces haunt me

As they shoulder one another in their rush and nervous haste,

With their eager eyes and greedy, and their stunted forms are weedy.

For townsfolk have no time to grow, they have no time to waste


And I somehow rather fancy, that I’d like to swap with Clancy,

Like to take a turn at droving where the seasons come and go,

While he faced the round eternal of the cashbook and the journal…

But I doubt he’d suit the office, Clancy of the Overflow.


A.B. (Banjo) Paterson


1 comment:

Cliff said...

My favorite line in this poem has always been the one that ends with, "and we don't know where he are".
Banjo was the best.