Weary of this web of complex strife,
I long for the free and simple life.
I wistfully gaze on some old thing found,
a spear, a flint, a tool of bone,
hidden, for ages, underground,
our forbears used in the age of stone.
The first to come to this austral isle,
show it is not so;
they lived life the same simple way,
just the other side of yesterday.
Survivors over time's vast span,
they needed nothing more to live,
this austral island's stone age man,
than each other, song and dance,
and whatever nature had to give,
and came by chance.
By myths and legends in dance and song,
they worshipped spirits of the earth,
took care to do the earth no wrong,
for from her all things came to birth.
In all things ancestral spirits dwelt,
the whole earth was sacred ground,
not as dogma or belief, but felt,
in the heart, and chanted sound.
Happy they, fulfilled, content,
they lived their lives in wonderment.
(What forces should be arraigned,
when so much was lost
when so much gained?)
For fifty thousand years or more,
they lived according to their lore.
No leader they, no chief, no king,
no money, hoarding, rich or poor,
no labour, slavery or any such thing
or person, dogged their days;
fights were sport; there was no war,
nothing interfered with their ways
for untold years,
these simple children of the sun,
laughed their laughs, but now shed tears.
For millennia they lived the same,
but now their ancient ways are done,
because we came.
So much was lost when so much learned,
and never can the tide be turned.
My heart feels tight, like twisted strands,
to think of the wealth we have won,
by destroying life
in their Dream-time lands,
killing with drink, disease and gun.
And yet some can still survive
in deserts so sparse and dry
that no white man could stay alive,
when money can't survival buy.
With nothing but a coolamon,
woomerah, boomerang,
stones and spear,
and tribal law to obey,
the first people could live well here,
in their way.
By power, arrogance and the gun,
so much was lost when so much won;
the lost recourse is here to show,
the wonder of such success;
how much we do not need to know,
and how little to possess.
When our proud world has tumbled
into chaos and decay,
perhaps we may be humbled
to learn from such as they.
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Dear Russell, Thank you for your nicely constructed poem, and I agree with almost every sentiment and idea expressed in it. However, I doubt there was no war between the 700 tribes/nations on this continent. That warfare exited is a pretty well-established fact. And 'took care to do the earth no wrong' ... it's pretty well established that indigenous people in Australia often used bushfire -- on very large scale -- in order to force animals into places where they could be easily captured for killing and eating. The American indigenes similarly forced buffalo by the thousands over cliffs in order the harvest their meat. As for longing for the simple life: so do I, but I thank Western science for painless dentistry. I enjoyed your poem and its tone very much, and thank you for being an early Bello Bard to submit a poem, but I just can't bring myself agree with all of its premises. - Pip
ReplyDeleteI thought the poem was very beautiful.
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