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Pied Roller

Pied Roller

 

The harvest failed that first season,

and we had no ploughs. We staved

away the scurvy with wild-spinach

and leaves of sweet tea, stripped

from creepers, tasting of liquorice.

The guns stayed unused, for want

of powder, so we thinned to bone

on a white monotony of fish, and

would have risked a hanging for

salt beef, with the maggots brushed

from it. And when the Sirius left,

the flour ration down by a pound,

the weakness came to grip us,

yet each day on the old stump,

the Pied Roller butchered a lizard

with his black tipped bill, shared it

with his mate, stringing out innards

between them, then sat upright,

bobbed heads, and began to sing.

He always started first, and she

chimed in, with a sudden soaring

from bass to treble: versicle and

response, a crisp litany of flutes

and whistles. Between each phrase

the silence swelled, as our empty

bellies echoed with hymns

of loving birds.

 

Poem by Giles Watson, 2014. Picture: NM, Volume 19. Judging by its size and features, the bird depicted is the Pied Butcherbird, Cracticus nigrogularis, a songster of particular note, closely related to the Australian Magpie. The poem is set in Sydney in the summer of 1788-9, after Governor Phillip had sent the ship Sirius on a rushed voyage to Cape Town in order to stave off famine. The ship did not return until May 1789.

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Uploaded on July 10, 2014
Taken on July 10, 2014