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Where Women Worked Like Men by Meg Lewer

Collage techniques are used to create interest and texture.
Comes with a certificate of authenticity and wire across the back.

This poem is from “The Last Review” by Henry Lawson as he contemplated his life in 1904.
He must’ve experienced so much of Australian History, including the life of women on the Goldfields.

“Turn the light down, nurse, and leave me, while I hold my last review,
For the Bush is slipping from me, and the town is going too:
Draw the blinds, the streets are lighted, and I hear the tramp of feet —
And I’m weary, very weary, of the Faces in the Street.

Dusty patch in desolation, bare slab walls and earthen floor,
And a blinding drought is blazing from horizons to the door:
Milkless tea and ration sugar, damper junk and pumpkin mash —
And a Day on our Selection passes by me in a flash.

Sunrise on the diggings! (Oh! what life and hearts and hopes are here)
From a hundred pointing forges comes a tinkle, tinkle clear —
Strings of drays with wash to puddle, clack of countless windlass boles,
Here and there the red flag flying, flying over golden holes.

It was No Place for a Woman — where the women worked like men —
From the Bush and Jones’ Alley come their haunting forms again.
And, let this thing be remembered when I’ve answered to the roll,
That I pitied haggard women — wrote for them with all my soul.”

Where Women Worked Like Men

Meg Lewer

AUD$1,580
Size: 60w x 60h x 4d cms
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Additional Information

Where Women Worked Like Men by Meg Lewer

Collage techniques are used to create interest and texture.
Comes with a certificate of authenticity and wire across the back.

This poem is from “The Last Review” by Henry Lawson as he contemplated his life in 1904.
He must’ve experienced so much of Australian History, including the life of women on the Goldfields.

“Turn the light down, nurse, and leave me, while I hold my last review,
For the Bush is slipping from me, and the town is going too:
Draw the blinds, the streets are lighted, and I hear the tramp of feet —
And I’m weary, very weary, of the Faces in the Street.

Dusty patch in desolation, bare slab walls and earthen floor,
And a blinding drought is blazing from horizons to the door:
Milkless tea and ration sugar, damper junk and pumpkin mash —
And a Day on our Selection passes by me in a flash.

Sunrise on the diggings! (Oh! what life and hearts and hopes are here)
From a hundred pointing forges comes a tinkle, tinkle clear —
Strings of drays with wash to puddle, clack of countless windlass boles,
Here and there the red flag flying, flying over golden holes.

It was No Place for a Woman — where the women worked like men —
From the Bush and Jones’ Alley come their haunting forms again.
And, let this thing be remembered when I’ve answered to the roll,
That I pitied haggard women — wrote for them with all my soul.”