Subject: Lyr Add: TROUBLE BREWING (C. Morris)
From:
Bob Bolton
Date: 04 Sep 00 - 11:30 PM
G'day Naemanson,
That poem is Trouble Brewing by C Morris. Here is the text from Mulga Wire # 14, August 1979 where I published it after getting a copy found in an old book by Australian folklore collector John Meredith.
"Trouble Brewing" is a good yarn told in poetic form by C.Morris (if my deciphering is correct) [I since believe that to be Charles Morris.]. Like a good yarn it is built up slowly and yet dramatically right up to the punch-line. This poem will make you chuckle hours after you've read It. Thanks to John Meredith who submitted it for publication.
TROUBLE BREWING
He came walking through the forest in the glaring summer's sun;,
In his left hand was a bottle - in the other was a gun.
His beard was wild and bushy and his hair was shaggy too.
His old straw hat was full of holes, and tufts of hair poked through.
I stood and waited for him as he came with steady stride,
And I studied his appearance till he soon was by my side.
He wasn't old, nor was he young, but somewhere in between
And heavy eyebrows almost hid his eyes of greyish green.
Then he handed me the bottle - "You must have a drink", he said,
And I heard him cock the rifle, and he aimed it at my head.
"Yes, take a swig of my home-brew. and you may be the first
To have a chance of trying out my recipe for thirst".
And the rifle never wavered an it pointed straight at me,
And that close-up gaping barrel was a nasty thing to see.
I lifted up the bottle with a very shaky hand,
And a silent prayer to Heaven, as I followed his command.
I swallowed twice, and God Above! that brew had come from Hell.
And I heard my head exploding, and it drowned my dying yell.
I fell upon the dusty ground and grovelled there in pain,
Vowing he could shoot me, but I wouldn't drink again.
When the pain and shock receded, and I staggered to my feet,
"It was awful! It was awful.' I could hear myself repeat.
Then I heard the brewer speaking, and he said "Yea, I agree
"Now give me back that bottle, and you hold the gun on we".
I have not heard Martyn do it, either as a song or a poem and I know no established tune for it. There was a series of cartoons relating to this poem on the wall at "Tritton Hall", the Bush Music Club HQ when Martyn last performed for us a few years back but I presme he found the poem by independent research.
Regards,
Bob Bolton
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