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The Keening
[edit]Every Kalgoorlie or gold mining town family or person would understand this poem deeply.
Picture of the Kalgoorlie Super Pit Mine, which has yielded over 60 million ounces of gold.
The Keening
[poem by Marie E.
. Pitt] 25 April 2014 ·
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[Editor: This poem by Marie E. J. Pitt was published in The Horses of the Hills and Other Verses (1911).]
The Keening.
We are the women and children Of the men that mined for gold: Heavy are we with sorrow, Heavy as heart can hold; Galled are we with injustice, Sick to the soul of loss — Husbands and sons and brothers Slain for the yellow dross!
We are the women and children Of the men that died like sheep, “Stoping” the stubborn matrix, Piling the mullock heap, Stifling in torrid “rises,” Stumbling with stupid tread Along the Vale of the Shadow To the thud of the stamper-head!
We are the women and children Of the miners that delved below Main-shaft and winze and crosscut — Opening the silly “show.” Look at us! Yea, in our faces! God! Are ye not ashamed In the sight of your godless fellows Of the men ye have killed and maimed?
They moiled like gnomes in the “faces,” They choked in the “’fracteur” fumes, And your dividends paved the pathways That led to their early tombs. With Death in the sleepless night-shifts They diced for the prize ye drew; And the Devil loaded the pieces — But the stakes were held by you!
Ye were the lords of Labor; They were the slaves of Need. Homes had they for the keeping, Children to clothe and feed! Ye paid them currency wages — Shall it stand to your souls for shrift That ye bought them in open market For “seven-and-six a shift?”
Wise in your generation, Cunning are ye in your day! But ’ware of the stealthy vengeance That never your wealth shall stay! They won it — yea, with their life-blood; Ye laughed at the sacrifice; But by every drop of your spilling We shall hold you to pay the price!
Ye have sown the wind, to your sorrow; Ye have sown by the coward’s code, Where the glimmering candles gutter, And the rock-drill bites on the lode! Ye have sown to the jangle of stampers, To the brawl of the Stock Exchange, And your children shall reap the whirlwind On the terms that the gods arrange.
And ye, who counsel the nation, Statesmen who rule the State! Foolish are ye in your weakness, Wise are we in our hate! Traitors and false that pander To the spillers of human life, Slaying with swords of silence Who dared not slay with the knife!
And ye of the House of Pilate, Ye who gibber of Christ At the foot of the golden crosses Where the sons of men are triced! Ye who whimper of patience, Who slay with a loose-lipped lie At the word of the fat blasphemers Whose poppet-heads mock the sky!
We are the women and children Of the men that ye mowed like wheat; Some of us slave for a pittance — Some of us walk the street; Bodies and souls, ye have scourged us; Ye have winnowed us flesh from bone: But, by the God ye have flouted, We will come again for our own!
Source: Marie E. J. Pitt, The Horses of the Hills and Other Verses, Melbourne: Specialty Press, 1911, pages 110-113 49.179.6.11 (talk) 05:39, 26 January 2023 (UTC)
Master of the Groves
[edit]As a school kid I was lucky to meet and sit down with this author on his trip to Kalgoorlie for his more famous book Taronga. It was cool back then and interesting reliving.
Master of the Grove (1982) A novel by Victor Kelleher
When soldiers destroy Derin's home, he sets out on a puzzling and difficult journey in search of his missing father. But Derin's people are caught up in a war between the people of the mountains and the people of the plains, and his private quest takes him into the very heart of the conflict - to a confrontation with the powerful Master of the Grove. This is the story of a young boy's search for truth - and a sorcerer's misuse of knowledge . . . 49.196.187.58 (talk) 06:07, 26 January 2023 (UTC)