Volume 10 105
was written in to understand or appreciate it. The
kinship between American and Australian poetry is
a close one, maybe even closer than our relation-
ship to other Western civilizations, owing to our na-
tions’ similar histories, but there is also much that
makes Australia different. The sort of people in a
poem like this are in fact universal types, but there
will always be assumptions in the culture they came
from that require a slightly deeper examination.
Source:David Kelly, in an essay for Poetry for Students,
Gale, 2001.
Erica Smith
Erica Smith is a writer and editor. In this es-
say she explores Dawe’s “Drifters” as an illustra-
tion of the poet’s social concerns.
Bruce Dawe’s “Drifters” begins with a simple
declaration—“One day soon he’ll tell her it’s time
to start packing”—given without an explanation.
That simple statement brings a surge of theoretical
consequences, tumbling out in a rapid-fire series of
images that comprise the poem. Over the course of
the poem the reader comes to a full realization of
the tensions inherent in a family of migrants.
In the beginning of the poem the reader feels
the electricity of the anticipated announcement
travel through the house: “the kids will yell
‘Truly?’ and get wildly excited for no reason, / and
the brown kelpie pup will start dashing about, trip-
ping everyone up.” It is significant that the reac-
tions of the children and the dog are mentioned
first, for the reader can most closely identify with
them. A reader, like a child or an animal, can sense
commotion, and react to it, without yet knowing
the full spectrum of what exactly is going on. For
now, the poet chooses to withhold the reason for
the announcement.
The following lines depict the more contem-
plative reactions of the wife and two daughters.
First the wife goes into the garden and picks the
green tomatoes, presumably saving them because
she needs to conserve her resources. Then the poet
asks, “notice how the oldest girl is close to tears
because she was happy here, / and how the
youngest girl is beaming because she wasn’t.” This
double-snapshot of the two sisters is both a nostal-
gic look at childhood’s ups and downs, and a seri-
ous portrait of two children who are thrown into
upheaval. The lines carefully bring out the daugh-
ters’ inner thoughts, and a phrase such as “she was
happy here” further implies that “here” is but one
in a chain of places in which the daughter has lived.
That recognition, when made by the reader, can be
deeply saddening.
Along those lines, it is interesting to note that
the poet positions the “announcement” as a fore-
gone conclusion, setting it sometime in the future.
Thus, as with the girls’ reactions, the reader senses
that the family has been through this upheaval nu-
merous times already. The poet can imagine, down
to the last emotional nuance, what will happen
when the inevitable comes to pass.
The action of the poem then turns back to the
wife: “And the first thing she’ll put on the trailer
will be the bottling-set she never unpacked from
Grovedale.” This detail indicates another crucial el-
ement of the family’s life. Not only does the fam-
ily move on a regular basis, but they move so fre-
quently that they do not have time to unpack their
belongings. The last thing to be removed from the
trailer is the first to be put back on.
Suddenly the action of the poem jumps ahead.
The family is already packed and leaving, the trailer
bumping down the drive, “past the blackberry canes
with their last shriveled fruit.” The image of the
shriveled fruit mirrors the family’s circumstances:
the family’s time of thriving in this home, and
town, has passed.
As the family is leaving, the focus of the poem
turns again to the wife’s thoughts: “she won’t even
ask why they’re leaving this time, or where they’re
heading for.” This is a harrowing reality. Still, the
reader does not know exactly why the family must
go. The reader may surmise that the father is a ten-
ant farmer (suggested by the image of dying fruit),
or perhaps he is another kind of laborer who is hired
only long enough to complete a specific job. Like
the wife, the reader remains unable to ask why.
Despite the terror of having to leave, and quite
possibly of having nowhere to go, the wife’sDrifters... We seem either
too smug or too shy to have
a good hard look at the
world we live in ... the
suffering, poignant and
necessary world.”