Leaving Home by Peter Skrzynecki is an unhappy journey of disorientation and separation. It shows how such things as leaving home can impact a group (family) beyond repair. This poem chronicles how the poet responded to the news about his “first country appointment” as a teacher. It was a shock to himself and the family, “last thing we expected”. Anger, frustration and impotent rage are predominant emotions that escalate throughout the poem. It is the insensitivity, anonymous and militaristic feelings towards the migrant character that emphasise the impact of the journey to the individual. It is also the insignificance of common man against officialdom that impact the central figure and his family the most. Imagery and illusions (“severed heads”) are used to define the narrator’s emotional state and promote the surreal feel of disorientation in the poem caused by the impact of the physical journey. The imagery and irregular structure and rhyming pattern focuses on his feeling of emptiness and alienation in a foreign disconcerting world, which also creates a sense of entrapment. Interestingly, Skrzynecki uses the idea of the death metaphor in many of his poems including this one, as well as images of war. The emotional roller coaster ride experienced throughout the poem are a direct result of the impact of the journey on the group and are shown though the contrasts in the poem, hour/minute, first/last.
Immigrants at central station: 1951 by Peter Skrzynecki is a poem concerning the immigrant departure from central station to unknown futures in unknown destinations. It shows immigrants still at crossroads in the journey, but fearful and anxious of an uncontrolled future of apprehension and isolation. The “glistening tracks of steel” in the poem are a metaphor for a pre-determined future. The idea of this uncertain yet forced future implies the control by an impersonal bureaucracy represented in the personification of the ‘train whistle’. The sinister simile ‘like cattle brought for slaughter’ combines derogatory images that liken these people to doomed livestock, to also emphasises their vulnerability and enforced passivity. These migrants can also be liken to the Jews during WW11 being transported to the concentration camps. The poem as a reflection on the ordeal endured by most migrant families attempting to settle into the now world, emphasis the idea of the impact on the group. This poem does not just focus implicitly own Skrzynecki’s personal experience but gives a general reading about the immigrant experience. It is evident that the impacts of this journey are portrayed as a collective feeling on behalf of all the immigrants through the reference to ‘families’, which widens the poem’s frame of reference from a merely personal response to a general experience of physical journeys. The repetition of “sad” is another term that helps to capture the collective feeling of this immigrant group. The journey expressed in this poem is neither at the beginning nor the end, it is a destination point, and the migrants await the power of the physical journey to transform their lives still further. Their physical journey is made up of stages to be passed through before their end destination can be reached. The poem’s final destination is left open and this is a representation of the arrival being indicative of how important the journey is. As the journey provides reasons for emotional and intellectual extension.
Renay Walker’s Blood on the tracks is an extract of a film review “Beneath clouds”. Walker provides and insight into the symbolism of the ‘road metaphor’. A journey of life may be seen as a pathway, which “intersects with the problem of life at a crossroad”. As a result, the choice of a particular route would “render” new problems, or perhaps bring us forth to the beginning of a new journey. This film involving the concept of the ‘road metaphor’ promotes the idea of a journey as “nothing really straight forward”, and once a decision is taken; there is “no going back”. The use of road as a metaphor suggests many implication. For instance, roads will come to crossroads and intersection, relating to the obstacles and choices which “can move in either direction” which are faced in journeys. Walker makes connections to the physical journey through the notion that through the “movement from one place to another” there would be personal growth and actions taken would lead to consequences. It is clear that the journey impacted on the individual and group through the implications evident in the physical journey. “Beneath clouds” presents the journey undertaken by two morally, culturally and racially different teenagers, whose separate journey eventually meet at a crossroad. This film poses and connotes the problem of assimilating or merging distinct boundaries.
- The impact of the journey and its implications (crossroads) is far more significant than the arrival, as it is this journey that provides the emotional and intellectual extension.
Survival by Stuart Diver is a autobiography telling of the inspirational story of the Thredbo disaster’s sole survivor. On the night of July 30th 1997 a landslide shattered the tranquillity of Thredbo village, sweeping away two ski lodges and burying 19 people beneath tonnes of concrete an mud. In the days that followed, the world mourned as rescuers dragged body after body from the rubble. But out of tragedy sprang an amazing story of survival. Stuart Diver, whose wife Sally died beside him in the first moments of the slide, had clung to life buried beneath a concrete slab for 65 freezing hours. Although this seems to portray the very strength and essence of the inner strength and journey, it also emphasises the strength of the physical journey and its impact on the individual (Stuart) and the group (family + world). This story shows how one man found the mental and physical strength to live through tragedy and survive against impossible odds. Stuart’s journey relived in this book was cause by an event that transformed and changed his world forever. The journey from the initial fall, to his mind set during those long hours alone beneath the rubble, his painful recovery, his strengthened inspirational attitude to life and the future. This journey was fuelled by courage, character, determination and above all else love. As Stuart said “Sal’s path is set, but mine and ours is a much more difficult road to follow”, the arrival had not yet come for Stuart but the journey had had an immense impact on all recipients involved. Don Woodland a salvation army Chaplin said “the course of many lives was changed that night, including mine” This is evidence of the impact the journey had on the group.
The man from Snowy River composed Andrew Barton "Banjo" Paterson is a famous Australian poem set in the high country (snowy mountains) of Australia. Paterson was a poet who captured the magic of Australia’s bush and the characters who lived there. The challenges and impacts of this journey gave birth to a set of Australian myths and traditions that are still relevant today. The poem tells the story of a valuable house that escapes “the colt from old regret had got away”. All the riders in the area gather to peruse the wild bush horse. But the country defeats them all, except for ‘The Man from Snowy River’. His personal courage and skill has turned him into a legend. However, the idea of the physical journey being felt by both the individual and the group is evident in the poem as the characters find themselves drawn to idea of adventure and their own love of riding and its thrills. The tight-knit feeling of this outback community also gave the idea of not being able to ‘escape’ the journey that lies ahead. The legendary character, the man for Snowy River forged his own physical journey into the history books as a one with heroic dimensions “The Man from Snowy River is a household word-to-day”. The obstacles and movement described in this poem “the hills are twice as steep and twice as rough”, the physical and emotional challenges all depict the physical journey and the harsh reality of the outback. These challenges gave all the characters reason to question themselves and to broaden their understanding of the world and themselves. The ‘impact’ of this ‘individual’ journey impacted the Australian nation, as it was a ballad that inspired a pride in Australia unseen before in the country’s history.
In conclusion, all journey have an impact. Some journeys are forced (e.g. in Castaway) where there is no escape. Physical journeys have the power to challenge our thinking about society, our surroundings and ourselves. The physical journey broadens our understanding of the world and ourselves and provides opportunities for travellers to extend themselves. “The impact of journeys is felt by both individuals and the group. No-one can escape the impact of a journey”.
However, the arrival can be important as it is the purpose for the journey in the first place. The journey undertaken to achieve the arrival is a learning curve to prepare yourself for the final destination.
The Man from Snowy River
Andrew Barton ‘Banjo’ Paterson
THERE was movement at the station, for the word had passed around
That the colt from old Regret had got away,
And had joined the wild bush horses — he was worth a thousand pound,
So all the cracks had gathered to the fray.
All the tried and noted riders from the stations near and far
Had mustered at the homestead overnight,
For the bushmen love hard riding where the wild bush horses are,
And the stock-horse snuffs the battle with delight.
There was Harrison, who made his pile when Pardon won the cup,
The old man with his hair as white as snow;
But few could ride beside him when his blood was fairly up—
He would go wherever horse and man could go.
And Clancy of the Overflow came down to lend a hand,
No better horseman ever held the reins;
For never horse could throw him while the saddle-girths would stand,
He learnt to ride while droving on the plains.
And one was there, a stripling on a small and weedy beast,
He was something like a racehorse undersized,
With a touch of Timor pony—three parts thoroughbred at least—
And such as are by mountain horsemen prized.
He was hard and tough and wiry—just the sort that won’t say die—
There was courage in his quick impatient tread;
And he bore the badge of gameness in his bright and fiery eye,
And the proud and lofty carriage of his head.
But still so slight and weedy, one would doubt his power to stay,
And the old man said, “That horse will never do
For a long and tiring gallop—lad, you’d better stop away,
Those hills are far too rough for such as you.”
So he waited sad and wistful—only Clancy stood his friend —
“I think we ought to let him come,” he said;
“I warrant he’ll be with us when he’s wanted at the end,
For both his horse and he are mountain bred.
“He hails from Snowy River, up by Kosciusko’s side,
Where the hills are twice as steep and twice as rough,
Where a horse’s hoofs strike firelight from the flint stones every stride,
The man that holds his own is good enough.
And the Snowy River riders on the mountains make their home,
Where the river runs those giant hills between;
I have seen full many horsemen since I first commenced to roam,
But nowhere yet such horsemen have I seen.”
So he went — they found the horses by the big mimosa clump —
They raced away towards the mountain’s brow,
And the old man gave his orders, ‘Boys, go at them from the jump,
No use to try for fancy riding now.
And, Clancy, you must wheel them, try and wheel them to the right.
Ride boldly, lad, and never fear the spills,
For never yet was rider that could keep the mob in sight,
If once they gain the shelter of those hills.’
So Clancy rode to wheel them—he was racing on the wing
Where the best and boldest riders take their place,
And he raced his stock-horse past them, and he made the ranges ring
With the stockwhip, as he met them face to face.
Then they halted for a moment, while he swung the dreaded lash,
But they saw their well-loved mountain full in view,
And they charged beneath the stockwhip with a sharp and sudden dash,
And off into the mountain scrub they flew.
Then fast the horsemen followed, where the gorges deep and black
Resounded to the thunder of their tread,
And the stockwhips woke the echoes, and they fiercely answered back
From cliffs and crags that beetled overhead.
And upward, ever upward, the wild horses held their way,
Where mountain ash and kurrajong grew wide;
And the old man muttered fiercely, “We may bid the mob good day,
No man can hold them down the other side.”
When they reached the mountain’s summit, even Clancy took a pull,
It well might make the boldest hold their breath,
The wild hop scrub grew thickly, and the hidden ground was full
Of wombat holes, and any slip was death.
But the man from Snowy River let the pony have his head,
And he swung his stockwhip round and gave a cheer,
And he raced him down the mountain like a torrent down its bed,
While the others stood and watched in very fear.
He sent the flint stones flying, but the pony kept his feet,
He cleared the fallen timber in his stride,
And the man from Snowy River never shifted in his seat—
It was grand to see that mountain horseman ride.
Through the stringy barks and saplings, on the rough and broken ground,
Down the hillside at a racing pace he went;
And he never drew the bridle till he landed safe and sound,
At the bottom of that terrible descent.
He was right among the horses as they climbed the further hill,
And the watchers on the mountain standing mute,
Saw him ply the stockwhip fiercely, he was right among them still,
As he raced across the clearing in pursuit.
Then they lost him for a moment, where two mountain gullies met
In the ranges, but a final glimpse reveals
On a dim and distant hillside the wild horses racing yet,
With the man from Snowy River at their heels.
And he ran them single-handed till their sides were white with foam.
He followed like a bloodhound on their track,
Till they halted cowed and beaten, then he turned their heads for home,
And alone and unassisted brought them back.
But his hardy mountain pony he could scarcely raise a trot,
He was blood from hip to shoulder from the spur;
But his pluck was still undaunted, and his courage fiery hot,
For never yet was mountain horse a cur.
And down by Kosciusko, where the pine-clad ridges raise
Their torn and rugged battlements on high,
Where the air is clear as crystal, and the white stars fairly blaze
At midnight in the cold and frosty sky,
And where around the Overflow the reedbeds sweep and sway
To the breezes, and the rolling plains are wide,
The man from Snowy River is a household word to-day,
And the stockmen tell the story of his ride.
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