Project Gutenberg's The Songs of a Sentimental Bloke, by C. J. Dennis

This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.net

Title: The Songs of a Sentimental Bloke

Author: C. J. Dennis

Posting Date: September 4, 2009 [EBook #4730] Release Date: December, 2003 First Posted: March 8, 2002

Language: English

*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE SONGS OF A SENTIMENTAL BLOKE ***

Produced by an anonymous Project Gutenberg volunteer.

The Songs of a Sentimental Bloke

C. J. Dennis

To Mr and Mrs J. G. Roberts

  La vie est vaine:
  Un peu d'amour,
  Un peu de haine…
  Et puis—bonjour!

  La vie est breve:
  Un peu d'espoir,
  Un peu de reve…
  Et puis—bonsoir!

Leon Montenaeken

Foreword

My young friend Dennis has honoured me with a request to write a preface to his book. I think a man can best write a preface to his own book, provided he knows it is good. Also if he knows it is bad.

"The Sentimental Bloke", while running through the Bulletin, brightened up many dark days for me. He is more perfect than any alleged "larrikin" or Bottle-O character I have ever attempted to sketch, not even excepting my own beloved Benno. Take the first poem for instance, where the Sentimental Bloke gets the hump. How many men, in how many different parts of the world—and of how many different languages—have had the same feeling—the longing for something better—to be something better?

The exquisite humour of The Sentimental Bloke speaks for itself; but there's a danger that its brilliance may obscure the rest, especially for minds, of all stations, that, apart from sport and racing, are totally devoted to boiling

"The cabbitch storks or somethink"

in this social "pickle found-ery" of ours.

Doreen stands for all good women, whether down in the smothering alleys or up in the frozen heights. And so, having introduced the little woman (they all seem "little" women), I "dips me lid"— and stand aside.

HENRY LAWSON
  SYDNEY, 1st September, 1915.

Contents

  I. A SPRING SONG
        The world 'as got me snouted jist a treat;…

  II. THE INTRO
        'Er name's Doreen…Well, spare me bloomin' days!…

  III. THE STOUSH O' DAY
        Ar, these is 'appy days! An' 'ow they've flown—…

  IV. DOREEN
        I wish't yeh meant it, Bill." Oh, 'ow me 'eart…

  V. THE PLAY
        "Wot's in a name?" she sez… An' then she sighs,…

  VI. THE STROR 'AT COOT
        Ar, wimmin! Wot a blinded fool I've been!…

  VII. THE SIREN
         She sung a song, an' I sat silent there….

  VIII. MAR
         "'Er pore dear Par," she sez, "'e kept a store";…

  IX. PILOT COVE
         "Young friend," 'e sez…Young friend! Well, spare me days!…

  X. HITCHED
         "An'—wilt—yeh—take—this—woman—fer—to—be—…

  XI. BEEF TEA
         She never magged; she never said no word;…

  XII. UNCLE JIM
         "I got no time fer wasters, lad," sez 'e,…

  XIII. THE KID
         My son!…Them words, jist like a blessed song,…

  XIV. THE MOOCH O' LIFE
         This ev'nin' I was sittin' wiv Doreen,…

THE GLOSSARY

I. A Spring Song

  The world 'as got me snouted jist a treat;
    Crool Forchin's dirty left 'as smote me soul;
  An' all them joys o' life I 'eld so sweet
    Is up the pole.
  Fer, as the poit sez, me 'eart 'as got
    The pip wiv yearnin' fer—I dunno wot.

  I'm crook; me name is Mud; I've done me dash;
    Me flamin' spirit's got the flamin' 'ump!
  I'm longin' to let loose on somethin' rash….
    Aw, I'm a chump!
  I know it; but this blimed ole Springtime craze
    Fair outs me, on these dilly, silly days.

  The young green leaves is shootin' on the trees,
    The air is like a long, cool swig o' beer,
  The bonzer smell o' flow'rs is on the breeze,
    An' 'ere's me, 'ere,
  Jist moochin' round like some pore, barmy coot,
    Of 'ope, an' joy, an' forchin destichoot.

  I've lorst me former joy in gettin' shick,
    Or 'eadin' browns; I 'aven't got the 'eart
  To word a tom; an', square an' all,
    I'm sick of that cheap tart
  'Oo chucks 'er carkis at a feller's 'ead
    An' mauls 'im…Ar! I wish't that I wus dead!…

  Ther's little breezes stirrin' in the leaves,
    An' sparrers chirpin' 'igh the 'ole day long;
  An' on the air a sad, sweet music breaves
    A bonzer song—
  A mournful sorter choon thet gits a bloke
    Fair in the brisket 'ere, an' makes 'im choke …

  What is the matter wiv me?…I dunno.
    I got a sorter yearnin' 'ere inside,
  A dead-crook sorter thing that won't let go
    Or be denied—
  A feelin' like I want to do a break,
    An' stoush creation for some woman's sake.

  The little birds is chirpin' in the nest,
    The parks an' gardings is a bosker sight,
  Where smilin' tarts walks up an' down, all dressed
    In clobber white.
  An', as their snowy forms goes steppin' by,
    It seems I'm seekin' somethin' on the sly.

  Somethin' or someone—I don't rightly know;
    But, seems to me, I'm kind er lookin' for
  A tart I knoo a 'undred years ago,
    Or, maybe, more.
  Wot's this I've 'eard them call that thing?…Geewhizz!
  Me ideel bit o' skirt! That's wot it is!

  Me ideel tart!… An', bli'me, look at me!
    Jist take a squiz at this, an' tell me can
  Some square an' honist tom take this to be
    'Er own true man?
  Aw, Gawd! I'd be as true to 'er, I would
    As straight an' stiddy as…Ar, wot's the good?

  Me, that 'as done me stretch fer stoushin' Johns,
    An' spen's me leisure gittin' on the shick,
  An' 'arf me nights down there, in Little Lon.,
    Wiv Ginger Mick,
  Jist 'eadin' 'em, an' doing in me gilt.
    Tough luck! I s'pose it's 'ow a man is built.

  It's 'ow Gawd builds a bloke; but don't it 'urt
    When 'e gits