Day 1 bush poem 1:
EACH DAY FOR THE NEXT EIGHT DAYS, I will
present a bush poem from premier Australian bush poet Long John Best. The poems
are all originals from Long John Best’s first print collection, Tall Tales.
I have known Long John, now in his 80s, for
about 20 years, perhaps not coincidentally, around the time he began to apply
himself seriously to the craft of bush poetry, known as cowboy poetry in the
United States. I say, not coincidentally, because we met when I was doing the
entertainment round for the Pine Rivers
Press and the Northern Times newspapers
I have been privileged over the years to write
stories about Long John or Johnny or Bestie, as various friends and family call
him.
Long John has helped me out too, performing
at the launch of my novel, Iraqi Icicle. Through his group the North Pine Bush
Poets, he raised money to buy my intellectually disables son, Kevin, an iPad to
communicate with.
John seemed to be always raising money for someone. As you
will read in one poem, one of his favourites was the Royal Flying Doctor
Service which has a long history of providing medical services to rural
Australia. Proceeds of Tall Tales support the Royal Society of Prevention of
Cruelty to Animals (RSPCA QLD) another of his favorites.
Long John’s poetry ranges from the comic to
the sentimental. He is not afraid to tackle controversial issues but he has the
gift of uniting rather than dividing his audiences of various political and
philosophical impulses.
I am proud to call Long John Best my friend
and I am happy Bent Banana Books was able to assist him in publishing Tall Tales. Let the tales begin. On the first tale of tallness, Long John wrote and
performed Tasha, a Gift of a Dog.
Long John Best:
This is the story of an uninvited
visitor to our home who stayed for fifteen years. She proved herself to be a
wonderful warm and loyal companion. Honest and non-judgmental she was a great
listener. We loved her then as we love her still.
Tasha, a Gift of a Dog
A puppy’s paw print, placed in concrete,
nearly forty years ago,
I
was dirty when she did it, but no more, how could I know?
Now, every time I see it, takes me back, to
reminisce
‘Bout them two young girls, who lived here,
‘bout Old Tasha, I still miss.

