De lëschtegen Doudesmarsch
Sollt ech jeemools bekannt a beléift ginn —
Wat warscheinlech sou vill wéi "ni" heescht —
Wann den Engel, deem ech mol versprach sinn,
Mir zourifft: "Nu gëff op de Geescht!"
Da sidd net zu Tréine geréiert
(Ech hu just eist Feld ëmgeplout)
Mä ech hoffe meng Heemecht spendéiert
En richtegen Tusch mir zur Nout.
Drum! Bumm! vun der Tromm, an Tra-rii-rass
Drum! Bumm! mat der Musek — grandios
Wann 't och nëmmen am Dram oder Geescht ass
D'Kapell marschéiert duerch d'Strooss!
An och ech a meng Trauergäscht kommen
All Mënsch ass op eemol um Dill,
Wann d'Kapell un der Spëtzt mat den Trommen
E Krichslidd eis spillt mat Gefill!
Ech brauch guer keen deiert Gedeessems,
Keng Gerbe a keng déck Marberplack,
Verschoun mech, meng Heemecht — verschoun mech!
Mam Läichenzuch a mat der Claque!
Et ass och ganz liicht ze verschmäerzen
Ouni langweilegt, perfekt Gehéier,
Gitt mer Musek sou richteg vun Häerzen
Vu Männer mat Fäischt a mat Béier.
A loosst s' Annie Laurie mat Power
An Old Lang Syne jäize voll Freed —
Zwee Lidder voll herrlecher Trauer
Bei deene mir d'Häerz riicht opgeet.
An d'Krichshymn vu Frankräich kënnt giedlech,
An d'Wacht am Rhein kënnt och dohin,
Déi lescht Meil gehéiert natierlech
dem Britannia a Wearing the Green.
A wa leschten Enns trotz Bekanntheet
ech dann awer kee Wak um Kont hätt —
Mäi Kolleeg mat der Kar aus der Kandheet,
dee kutschéiert mech gär fir zwee Pätt.
Australier mat Häerz a Verstand sinn
Vru mir schonn dee Wee hei gefuer,
Mat der oppener Päerdskutsch am Wand hin
An dem Kutscher als eenzegen um Tour.
Ma loosst s' Annie Laurie mat Power
An Old Lang Syne jäize voll Freed —
Zwee Lidder voll herrlecher Trauer
Bei deene mir d'Häerz riicht opgeet.
An d'Krichshymn vu Frankräich kënnt giedlech,
An d'Wacht am Rhein kënnt och dohin,
Déi lescht Meil gehéiert natierlech
dem Britannia a Wearing the Green.
An am Geescht ginn ech mat an dem Cortège —
Laanscht d'Säit wäert ech roueg da ston.
An et mécht mer näischt aus, wann e Kolleeg
aus der Rei trëtt, fir 'n huelen ze gon.
Am Dezember ass d'Hëtzt net z'erdroen
An am Juni ass 't eemol ze kal,
A beim Patt wäerten s'alleguer soen,
Dass d'Welt mech ni richteg verstan.
Da sangt Annie Laurie mat Power
A jäizt Lang Syne mat e voll Freed —
Zwee Lidder voll herrlecher Trauer
Bei deene mir d'Häerz riicht opgeet.
An d'Krichshymn vu Frankräich kënnt giedlech,
An d'Wacht am Rhein kënnt och dohin,
Déi lescht Meil gehéiert natierlech
dem Britannia a Wearing the Green.
Loosst zu Bonnie Dundee se sprangen,
Den ale Goldgriewer zum Luef —
Wann ech dann an der Lued net matsangen,
Sinn ech ganz dout a besser begruef.
An da ginn ech — vill manner verbattert
wéi ech munchmol heinidden alt war,
Mä ech wier guer net uereg verdaddert
Hätt de Péitrus mech 't éischt iwwergaang.
A loosst s' Annie Laurie mat Power
An Old Lang Syne jäize voll Freed —
Zwee Lidder voll herrlecher Trauer
Bei deene mir d'Häerz riicht opgeet.
An d'Krichshymn vu Frankräich kënnt giedlech,
(Wann et muss sinn, och God Save the Queen),
Mä d'lescht Meil gehéiert natierlech
dem Britannia a Wearing the Green.
Drum! Bumm! vun der Tromm, 't läit am Blutt eis —
Krichstrommlen am Dram! Sou grandios!
Wann och nëmmen am Geescht, 't mécht rëm Mutt eis
D'Kapell marschéiert duerch d'Strooss!
A mir, déi mir d'Welt oft bekrichen,
Eis Leidenschaft mécht eis net midd —
Wann d'Hoffnung spillt, kënnt se eis sichen
Op d'Weis vun dem Liewenskampf-Lidd.
An nach e Gedicht aus dem Band Verses, Popular and Humorous, datéiert op d'Joer 1897. Trotz dem liicht makaberen Thema handelt et sech och heibäi ëm eng Hymn un d'Liewen, en Opruff, d'Wellen vun eiser Existenz voll Energie ze reiden, wéi de Lawson et esou schéin an engem anere Gedicht aus dier Kollektioun ausdréckt, nämlech an Dat Schëff dat viru fiert.
Ech denken jidderee vun eis huet e Lidd, dat e sech fir säi Begriefnes wënsche géing. E Message, deen een uschwätzt, eng Weis, déi e méi wéi ee Mol duerch e schwaarze Moment gehuewen huet, eng Melodie, déi direkt an d'Häerz geet an en Text, deen eis déif beréiert. November Rain vu Guns N' Roses wier esou e Kandidat fir mech, an definitif From Here to Eternity vun Iron Maiden, Krik Tishiny vu Kipelov a sécher nach eng Dosen oder méi aner Lidder. Mä dem Lawson säi Choix gefält mer och. Auld Lang Syne muss een net virstellen, et ass e weltbekannt Lidd iwwer Frëndschaft a Komerodschaft. Annie Laurie ass ebenfalls e schottescht Lidd, wann och manner bekannt, eng batter-séiss Hymn iwwert d'Léift an den Asaz fir dee Mënsch, deen ee gär huet. D'Texter vun deenen zwee Lidder stamen aus der Romantik, si si voll vun Nostalgie a grousse Gefiller. Wat gëtt et Besseres.
D'Wacht am Rhein ass e patriotescht däitscht Lidd, dat am spéiden 19. an am fréien 20. Joerhonnert enorm beléift war. Et kann ee bal soen, dass et wärend dem Éischte Weltkrich quasi eng Zort zweet däitsch Nationalhymn war. Dat brittescht Géigestéck zur Wacht am Rhein ass Rule, Britannia. Wa s'an deem däitsche Lidd sangen "Und ob mein Herz im Tode bricht, / wirst du doch drum ein Welscher nicht" dann héiert een an deem aus Groussbritannien: "Rule, Britannia! rule the waves / Britons never will be slaves" [Beherrsch, Britannien! beherrsch du d'Wellen / d'Britte wäerten nimools Sklave sinn]. Iwwerdeems ass Wearing the Green eng iresch Ballad zur Éier vu deenen, déi hiert Liewe ginn hunn am Kampf fir d'Erhale vun der irescher Kultur. D'Lidd beschreift, wéi den Ire keen anere Choix blouf fir der englescher Tyrannei z'entkommen wéi entweder fir hir Iwwerzeegung ze stierwen oder an e Land auszewanderen, dat se hir iresch Kultur liewe gelooss huet.
Op den éischte Bléck kéint de Lieser sech froen, wéi de Lawson esou fervent patriotesch Lidder aus ënnerschiddleche Länner gläichermoosse gutt fanne kann. Däitscher, déi keng Fransouse wëlle sinn, e brittescht Krichslidd an eng iresch Ballad, déi sech géint d'Englänner revoltéiert ‒ all friddlech vereent an engem an dem selwechte Saz. Esou e Lieser läit mat senger Interpretatioun natierlech komplett derlaanscht. Alleguer d'Lidder, déi sech den Dichter fir säin Jolly Dead March wënscht, verbënnt e grousst Thema, dat am Lawson sengem Wierk ëmmer erëm optaucht: Frëndschaft a Loyalitéit tëscht Mënschen, déi déi selwecht Idealer hunn, an de Mutt, fir hir Iwwerzeegung anzestoen. Wat eis de Lawson also am Fong mat dësem Gedicht soe wëllt ass dat hei: Ech hoffen, dass déi Idealer, un déi ech e Liewe laang gegleeft hunn, mech iwwerliewen, an dass der eise Liewenskampf trotz allem freedeg viru féiert. Am Beschten natierlech mat engem Patt am Grapp. Prost, Kolleeg.
Eng süffisant Bemierkung zum Schluss: 1922 stierft de Lawson un enger Hirbluddung an ironescherweis krut hien als éischten Dichter en australescht Staatsbegriefnes. De Premierminister Billy Hughes an Dausende vu Leit waren derbäi.
The Jolly Dead March
If I ever be worthy or famous —
Which I'm sadly beginning to doubt —
When the angel whose place 'tis to name us
Shall say to my spirit, "Pass out!"
I wish for no sniv'lling about me
(My work was the work of the land),
But I hope that my country will shout me
The price of a decent brass band.
Thump! thump! of the drum and Ta-ra-rit,
Thump! thump! and the music — it's grand,
If only in dreams, or in spirit,
To ride or march after the band!
And myself and my mourners go straying,
And strolling and drifting along
With a band in the front of us playing
The tune of an old battle song!
I ask for no 'turn-out' to bear me;
I ask not for railings or slabs,
And spare me! my country — oh, spare me!
The hearse and the long string of cabs!
I ask not the baton or 'starts' of
The bore with the musical ear,
But the music that's blown from the hearts of
The men who work hard and drink beer.
And let 'em strike up Annie Laurie,
And let them burst out with Lang Syne —
Twin voices of sadness and glory,
That have ever been likings of mine.
And give the French war-hymn deep-throated
The Watch of the Germans between,
And let the last mile be devoted
To Britannia and Wearing the Green.
And if, in the end — more's the pity —
There is fame more than money to spare —
There's a van-man I know in the city
Who'll convey me, right side up with care.
True sons of Australia, and noble,
Have gone from the long dusty way,
While the sole mourner fought down his trouble
With his pipe on the shaft of the dray.
But let 'em strike up Annie Laurie,
And let them burst out with Lang Syne —
Twin voices of sadness and glory,
That have ever been likings of mine.
And give the French war-hymn deep-throated
The Watch of the Germans between,
And let the last mile be devoted
To Britannia and Wearing the Green.
And my spirit will join the procession —
Will pause, if it may, on the brink —
Nor feel the least shade of depression
When the mourners drop out for a drink;
It may be a hot day in December,
Or a cold day in June it may be,
And the drink will but help them remember
The good points the world missed in me.
And help 'em to love Annie Laurie,
And help 'em to raise Auld Lang Syne —
Twin voices of sadness and glory,
That have ever been likings of mine.
And give the French war-hymn deep-throated
The Watch of the Germans between,
And let the last mile be devoted
To Britannia and Wearing the Green.
Unhook the West Port for an orphan,
An old digger chorus revive —
If you don't hear a whoop from the coffin,
I am not being buried alive.
But I'll go with a spirit less bitter
Than mine own on the earth may have been,
And, perhaps, to save trouble, Saint Peter
Will pass me, two comrades between.
And let them strike up Annie Laurie,
And let 'em burst out with Lang Syne,
Twin voices of sadness and glory
That have ever been likings of mine.
Let them swell the French war-hymn deep-throated
(And I'll not buck at God Save the Queen),
But let the last mile be devoted
To Britannia and Wearing the Green.
Thump! thump! of the drums we inherit —
War-drums of my dreams! Oh it's grand,
If only in fancy or spirit,
To ride or march after a band!
And we, the World-Battlers, go straying
And loving and laughing along —
With Hope in the lead of us playing
The tune of a life-battle song!
This is yet another poem from Verses, Popular and Humorous, written in 1897. In spite of its slightly macabre topic, it's really again a paean to life, a call to boldly ride the waves of existence, as Lawson so aptly put it in another poem from that collection, namely The Ships that Won't Go down.
I guess we all know a song that we wish would be played at our funeral. A message that rings with our soul, a tune comforting us through many a dark moment, a melody that goes right to the heart and words that move us to the core. For me, that would be November Rain by Guns N' Roses, and of course From Here to Eternity by Iron Maiden, Krik Tishiny by Kipelov and probably a dozen or more other songs. I can also definitely relate to the tunes that Lawson has chosen. Auld Lang Syne is a popular hymn to friendship and camaraderie while Annie Laurie is another Scottish tune, albeit less well-known, a bittersweet ode to love and dedication to a beloved woman. Both songs are based on poems of the Romantic Age, nostalgic and full of grand feelings. What's not to love.
Die Wacht am Rhein [The Watch on the Rhine] is a German patriotic song which was extremely popular during the late 19th and early 20th centuries, so much so that it literally became a de-facto second national anthem during World War I. Rule, Britannia can be seen as the British counterpart to Die Wacht am Rhein. Just as the German song states "Und ob mein Herz im Tode bricht, / wirst du doch drum ein Welscher nicht" [And though my heart may break, when dead / You won't be ruled by Frenchmen yet"] the British song defiantly asserts "Rule, Britannia! rule the waves / Britons never will be slaves." Meanwhile, Wearing the Green is an Irish ballad about the men and women who laid down their lives to preserve their culture. The song laments how the Irish had no other choice to escape the English tyranny than to either die defying them or leave their country for another place where they could live as true Irishmen.
A very superficial reading might have the reader wondering how Lawson can endorse such fervently patriotic songs from different countries, all at once. Germans who do not want to submit to the French, a British battle song and an Irish ballad defying the English ‒ all peacefully united in one and the same sentence. Such an interpretation would of course indeed be superficial and wholly miss the point. All the songs for Lawson's Jolly Dead March have one underlying theme, a common thread that not only shows up in this poem, but in all his literary works: friendship and loyalty to those that share your ideals, standing up for each other and being ready to defend your beliefs if the occasion calls for it. So what Lawson is really saying is this: I hope that the ideals that I have believed in throughout my life will survive me and that the World-Battlers will go on loving and laughing and living in spite of it all. And while they're at it, let 'em grab a coldie. Cheers, mate.
A note at the end: In 1922, Lawson dies of cerebral haemorrhage and, perhaps ironically, became the first writer to be given an Australian state funeral. It was attended by Prime Minister Billy Hughes and thousands of people.