NOT AT ALL by Rodica Anca

 Rodica Anca

  

NOT AT ALL 

                         by Rodica Anca

Not at all! It worked for two days and it stumbled. Neither of music I have part. Nothing wants to go any more. All leave me. Including the backbone. And literally, and figuratively. Eh ...! And neither eyes. Almost do not see what I write, I have to stare so I can see if I spelled correctly. Damn it!

Spiridon Popescu:

O Lord, if you are my friend,

As you brag to all the saints,

Give command to Death in writing,

Take my horse but no my parents.

O Lord, if you are my friend,

Do not listen to all batties,

Give command to Death in writing,

Take my horse but not my kids.

O Lord, if you are my friend,

Do not poison more my fate,

Give command to Death in writing,

Take my horse but not girlfriend.

O Lord, if you are my friend,

As so laudly ever state,

Dip your saint pen into ink

And before going to bed,

Give command to Death in writing,

When will take her dagger sharp

To poke it in me , o Lord,

And to let the horse in life.

On May 28 (?), G is leave to anti-pod! Fulfills his dream, that only in this continent had not been. This time, the journey is supported by us. He goes to a friend set out there, Ben Todica, and I think that even when he dreams, in the night, there he goes.

I did a little ditty about two weeks ago, while washing 15 (!) bundles of patience and I had to occupy my mind with something else, more intellectual:

To down under, to down under, to down under he has gone,

His back pained for me the poor and from home thus he has flown,

Don't go there, don't go there, I was weeping, you blockhead,

He has pain perhaps in derrick and has gone to anti-pod.

To tickle his own vainglory he left me with no reserve

Leaving me alone in window with my soul awfully grieved.

Back of beyond he went selfish unselfconscious to whet,

I remain weeping my pity and my anguish. What a shit!

He left me alone in sadness, o, my little soul beyond,

What to do little and single? I may search a vagabond!

I will put hand on some sucker just for keeping company

Til the kangaroo's back here and push that in agony.

Meanwhile Noana arrived along with G, who went to take her from the bus terminal, I put them the dinner on the table, then we spoke of one, of other, , watched the news, and they went to bed, that tomorrow they go to the doctor, to see how her yese are going on after glaucoma operations last week.

I have remained single and I moved on snooker and write something while they lurk and with an eye to the finals of the tail between Robertson and Dott.

At Melborne, G is awaited by a period of conferences, various journeys through Australia, meeting with various personalities of the emigres there since many years, and perhaps also with other people of different origin, so he is preparing hardly in Australian culture.

He found a song from there that is a response to my earlier song. Here's it:

Oh hark, the dogs are barking love and it is nearly day

The boys have all gone mustering and I must be on my way

And I must be gone by morning light before the sun does shine

To join the Roma shearers on the banks of the Condamine

Oh, Willie, dearest Willie, please let me go with you

I'll cut off all my auburn hair and be a shearer too,

I'll helt you count your tally love while ringer oh you shine

And I'll wash your greasy moleskins on the banks of the Condamine

Oh, Nancy, dearest Nancy, with me you cannot go

For the squatters have given orders that no woman may do so

And your delicate constitution, love, isn't equal unto mine

To stand the constant tigering on the bankks of the Condamine.

Oh, then Willie, dearest Willie, please stay at home with me

We'll take up our selection, love, and a farmer's wife I'll be

I'll help you husk the corn, my love, and cook you meals so fine

You'll forget the Ramstag mutton on the banks of the Condamine

Oh Nancy, dearest Nancy, please do not hold me back

The boys they are all waiting and I must be on the track

So here's a good-bye kiss, my love, back home I will incline

When we've shorn the last of the jumbucks on the banks of the Condomines.

I think the genre is called bush-verse. If I will have mood , I'll may translate it into Romanian, approximately. This if I don't convince G that he is badly good to this job!

Well, that's a serious song, mine doesn't compare with it. But the theme is the same: the woman who prays to the man not to go into the world and not to leave her. Only that I make razzing and am more realistic. Great coincidence is the fact that the guy calls the girl Nancy as I also G called me. When he read it to me I thought that he joked.

Ready for today. I move on snooker match.

Rodica Anca