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User Rating:
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7.2
/10
(48 votes)
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I'm lyin' on the barren ground that's baked and cracked with drought,
And dunno if my legs or back or heart is most wore out;
I've got no spirits left to rise and smooth me achin' brow --
I'm too knocked up to light a fire and bile the billy now.
Oh it's trampin', trampin', tra-a-mpin', in flies an' dust an' heat,
Or it's trampin' trampin' tra-a-a-mpin'
through mud and slush 'n sleet;
It's tramp an' tramp for tucker -- one everlastin' strife,
An' wearin' out yer boots an' heart in the wastin' of yer life.
They whine o' lost an' wasted lives in idleness and crime --
I've wasted mine for twenty years, and grafted all the time
And never drunk the stuff I earned, nor gambled when I shore --
But somehow when yer on the track yer life seems wasted more.
A long dry stretch of thirty miles I've tramped this broilin' day,
All for the off-chance of a job a hundred miles away;
There's twenty hungry beggars wild for any job this year,
An' fifty might be at the shed while I am lyin' here.
The sinews in my legs seem drawn, red-hot -- 'n that's the truth;
I seem to weigh a ton, and ache like one tremendous tooth;
I'm stung between my shoulder-blades -- my blessed back seems broke;
I'm too knocked out to eat a bite -- I'm too knocked up to smoke.
The blessed rain is comin' too -- there's oceans in the sky,
An' I suppose I must get up and rig the blessed fly;
The heat is bad, the water's bad, the flies a crimson curse,
The grub is bad, mosquitoes damned -- but rheumatism's worse.
I wonder why poor blokes like me will stick so fast ter breath,
Though Shakespeare says it is the fear of somethin' after death;
But though Eternity be cursed with God's almighty curse --
What ever that same somethin' is I swear it can't be worse.
For it's trampin', trampin', tra-a-mpin' thro' hell across the plain,
And it's trampin' trampin' tra-a-mpin' thro' slush 'n mud 'n rain --
A livin' worse than any dog -- without a home 'n wife,
A-wearin' out yer heart 'n soul in the wastin' of yer life.
Henry Lawson
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Tuesday, December 31, 2002 |
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Read poems about / on: rain, dog, truth, water, red, fire, fear, lost, home, sky, heart, death, life, light, god, rose
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Comments about this poem (Knocked Up
by
Henry Lawson
) |
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Claudia Krizay (4/27/2011 2:36:00 PM)
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This poem does nothing for me except make me feel superior-
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Claudia Krizay (4/27/2011 2:11:00 PM)
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This poem does nothing for me- nothing positive, that is.
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Juan Olivarez (4/27/2011 9:39:00 AM)
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I must say in all honesty I was never familiar with Lawson, but his poem is excellent. Living in and working in the great outback must have been the ultimate test of survival. Now we must wait for Pruchnicki to come and foul the water.
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Mohammad Akmal Nazir (4/27/2011 6:21:00 AM)
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I must say that Lawson was a great poem. This is one the best poems written by him.
The poem has a strong structure. The sentiments are really awesome.
Very poignant write.
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Ann Beard (5/14/2010 11:55:00 PM)
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A great poet. I never tire of reading his work.
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Paolo Giuseppe Mazzarello (4/27/2010 6:16:00 PM)
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Soldiers identify with their country, more or less, what's more Aussie people had British Empire. Mr Lawson seemed to have only himself, more or less. It's true that drought is the same everywhere. He is a tremendous poet and a great discovery for an Italian, of course.
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Terence George Craddock (4/27/2010 3:55:00 AM)
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Henry Lawson remains one of the greatest reads in early Aussie Lit. A unique insight from a unique land and a time when an immigrant nation had already declared their metal at Lone Pine and ANZAC Cove, events that helped shape our two nations at Gallipoli.
This spirit Lawson so well describes in 'Knockered Up' was embodied in the wild colonial boys who fought in the Dardanelles Campaign. The Aussie blood and bravery at Lone Pine, the large number of Victoria Crosses they won there, allowed the Auckland and Wellington rifles to finally take the high ground at Chunuk Bair, and hold it for several days, before the British Navy in error shelled and killed most of the last kiwi survivors, a military blunder kept secret until the 1980s and rarely discussed.
This poems uses so many words that accurately fit the heat and suffering of those diggers on that exposed sun baked ground.
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Ramesh T A (4/27/2010 1:55:00 AM)
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Monotonous living and harsh-ship in life with no hope of change on dry land leading to pain of body, heart and soul certainly nobody likes to live long! It makes one think death better than pulling on life so! It is all expressed in a free style poem without losing touch with rhythm and rhyme makes the poem impressive one!
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Jesse Milligan (4/27/2009 11:13:00 PM)
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Loved it. You are one of the many talented poets that make me want to make my poems be famous some day.
Love to see more of your brilliant and inspiring work.
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nothing over (4/27/2009 5:33:00 PM)
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I very much enjoyed this poem. It reminds me of my family growing up on a small farm in the country
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Read all
16
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