Saturday, May 26, 2012
Saturday, May 19, 2012
"We go to Hall's Creek races,
Where, each year, he faces,
The guns from all the stations for miles around."
Tom Quilty wrote in a manner not considered literary. Rhyming verse, based on an everyday, country reality, has sometimes held little appeal for forward-moving, city-based critics.
"His pathway through life
Was ruffled by strife,
And the hopes of his boyhood destroyed."
Who doesn't know that? Dreams break, and there you are on the floor, every bit of you broken. But my brother Tom, if I may call him that, is only telling these stories to be authentic. He's not asking that you fall down too, only that you have generosity towards those who have fought, those who have fallen.