Meet Henry Kendall
Henry Kendall was born in 1839. He was a famous Australian author and bush poet. His writing and poetry is different from Paterson's because it is set in natural settings and the writing is very descriptive. He doesn't write in the ballad style.
His early life was troubled and he didn't receive much education. He began writing to write about the world around him. His life at times was unsettled and saddened by tragic events, such as the death of his daughter and writing was one of the things that helped him to cope.
However despite writing a few volumes he was never able to make much money and was often struggling to make ends meet. He drank too much alcohol and his health was never strong. He died at the age of 43.
He will be remembered as Australia's first bush poet. In fact there is a painting of him hanging in the National Library of Australia in Canberra by another famous Australian, Tom Roberts.
His early life was troubled and he didn't receive much education. He began writing to write about the world around him. His life at times was unsettled and saddened by tragic events, such as the death of his daughter and writing was one of the things that helped him to cope.
However despite writing a few volumes he was never able to make much money and was often struggling to make ends meet. He drank too much alcohol and his health was never strong. He died at the age of 43.
He will be remembered as Australia's first bush poet. In fact there is a painting of him hanging in the National Library of Australia in Canberra by another famous Australian, Tom Roberts.
Bell Birds
Henry Kendall’s beautiful descriptive poem Bell Birds is perhaps his best known. Many Australian children learnt it at school in years gone by. They would recite it off by heart! Take a few minutes to choose some lines that use very descriptive language to describe the bellbirds and their environment and share them with the class.
Bell-Birds
By the channels of coolness the echoes are calling,
And down the dim gorges I hear the creek falling;
It lives in the mountain where moss and the sedges
Touch with their beauty the banks and the ledges.
Through breaks of the cedar and sycamore bowers
Struggles the light that is love to the flowers;
And, softer than slumber, and sweeter than singing,
The notes of the bell-birds are running and ringing.
The silver-voiced bell-birds, the darlings of day-time,
They sing in September their songs of the May-time;
When shadows wax strong, and thunder-bolts hurtle,
They hide with their fear in the leaves of the myrtle;
When rain and the sunbeams shine mingled together,
They start up like fairies that follow fair weather;
And straightway the hues of their feathers unfolden,
Are the green and the purple, the blue and the golden.
October, the maiden of bright yellow tresses,
Loiters for love in the cool wildernesses;
Loiters, knee-deep, in the grasses to listen.
Where dripping rocks gleam and the leafy pools glisten:
Then is the time when the water-moons splendid
Break with their gold, and are scattered or blended
Over the creeks, till the woodlands have warning
Of songs of the bell-bird and wings of the morning.
Welcome as waters unkissed by the summers
Are the voices of bell-birds to thirsty far-corners,
When fiery December sets foot in the forest,
And the need of the wayfarer presses the sorest,
Pent in the ridges for ever and ever,
The bell-birds direct him to spring and to river,
With ring and with ripple, like runnels whose torrents
Are toned by the pebbles and leaves in the currents.
Often I sit, looking back to a childhood
Mixt with the sights and the sounds of the wildwood,
Longing for power and the sweetness to fashion.
Lyrics with beats like the heart-beats of passion;
Songs interwoven of lights and of laughters
Borrowed from bell-birds in far forest rafters;
So I might keep in the city and alleys
The beauty and strength of the deep mountain valleys,
Charming to slumber the pain of my losses
With glimpses of creeks and a vision of mosses.
Henry Kendall
Bell-Birds
By the channels of coolness the echoes are calling,
And down the dim gorges I hear the creek falling;
It lives in the mountain where moss and the sedges
Touch with their beauty the banks and the ledges.
Through breaks of the cedar and sycamore bowers
Struggles the light that is love to the flowers;
And, softer than slumber, and sweeter than singing,
The notes of the bell-birds are running and ringing.
The silver-voiced bell-birds, the darlings of day-time,
They sing in September their songs of the May-time;
When shadows wax strong, and thunder-bolts hurtle,
They hide with their fear in the leaves of the myrtle;
When rain and the sunbeams shine mingled together,
They start up like fairies that follow fair weather;
And straightway the hues of their feathers unfolden,
Are the green and the purple, the blue and the golden.
October, the maiden of bright yellow tresses,
Loiters for love in the cool wildernesses;
Loiters, knee-deep, in the grasses to listen.
Where dripping rocks gleam and the leafy pools glisten:
Then is the time when the water-moons splendid
Break with their gold, and are scattered or blended
Over the creeks, till the woodlands have warning
Of songs of the bell-bird and wings of the morning.
Welcome as waters unkissed by the summers
Are the voices of bell-birds to thirsty far-corners,
When fiery December sets foot in the forest,
And the need of the wayfarer presses the sorest,
Pent in the ridges for ever and ever,
The bell-birds direct him to spring and to river,
With ring and with ripple, like runnels whose torrents
Are toned by the pebbles and leaves in the currents.
Often I sit, looking back to a childhood
Mixt with the sights and the sounds of the wildwood,
Longing for power and the sweetness to fashion.
Lyrics with beats like the heart-beats of passion;
Songs interwoven of lights and of laughters
Borrowed from bell-birds in far forest rafters;
So I might keep in the city and alleys
The beauty and strength of the deep mountain valleys,
Charming to slumber the pain of my losses
With glimpses of creeks and a vision of mosses.
Henry Kendall
In the last verse, Henry Kendall is looking back to his childhood where he remembers the sound of the bell bird. He is wanting to take some of that beauty and those fond memories with him to the city to ease the pain of his troubled life.
The following video, tells the poem with images added to bring it to life. It was made as a tribute to Henry Kendall.
The following video, tells the poem with images added to bring it to life. It was made as a tribute to Henry Kendall.
The Last of His Tribe
This is one of Kendall's Aboriginal inspired poems.
This lonely old warrior (illustrated on the cover) is literally the last of his tribe. As he waits for death he remembers his days gone by and is once again at one with his tribe. He remembers being a hunter and a fisher and for a moment in his mind is a hunter and fisher and he returns to his tribe with the spoils of his endeavours. The spirits of those who have gone before him return to claim their leader and in his next life he will be restored to his former glory
This lonely old warrior (illustrated on the cover) is literally the last of his tribe. As he waits for death he remembers his days gone by and is once again at one with his tribe. He remembers being a hunter and a fisher and for a moment in his mind is a hunter and fisher and he returns to his tribe with the spoils of his endeavours. The spirits of those who have gone before him return to claim their leader and in his next life he will be restored to his former glory
Read the poem
For us the poem has been illustrated and turned into a book which makes it easier to understand. You might like to read it a couple of times before thinking about the following questions.
How does the poem make you feel?
What is happening to the warrior? Clue: "Will he go in his sleep from these desolate lands, Like a chief, to the rest of his race.."
What things is he remembering?
How does the storm contribute to the mood of the poem?
How does the poem make you feel?
What is happening to the warrior? Clue: "Will he go in his sleep from these desolate lands, Like a chief, to the rest of his race.."
What things is he remembering?
How does the storm contribute to the mood of the poem?
Look at these two pictures from the book. Find them and read the part of the poem that goes with them.
How are these two pictures different? How has the warrior's life changed? How has the illustrator drawn these two pictures to emphasise the different times in the warrior's life?
How are these two pictures different? How has the warrior's life changed? How has the illustrator drawn these two pictures to emphasise the different times in the warrior's life?
Finally, who do you think the woman is in the final part of the poem?
With the honey-voiced woman who beckons and stands,
And gleams like a dream in his face -
Like a marvellous dream in his face?
What do you think the mood of the poem is at the very end? Why?
With the honey-voiced woman who beckons and stands,
And gleams like a dream in his face -
Like a marvellous dream in his face?
What do you think the mood of the poem is at the very end? Why?