102 Shaggen (L’incisciature)

Translated by Peter Nicholas Dale

Wodda lather n’ swet, the sheer wear n’ tear a the act!
Cop the jinglen knackers as ya cram in the bone.
Ev’ry friggen thump, b’Christ, banged sweetly home,
Till we mewled n’ huft n’ puft like rootèd cats.

Glazed eyeballs roll over wirse’n a frenzied fool’s:
Lips sucken lips, skin’ut smacks, slips, slaps, n’ slides over skin.
Cum! Hang on! Cop it! fuckme! Thare she blows! wait a min!
It’s knock, push, poke n’squeeze, a thrashen a twat n’ tool.

If we’d’a kept it up, we’d’ uv had good reason ta groan!
‘Cos if we’d skun that game a rooten it’s a cert
We’d’a flaked out like stunned mullets, as num’ as stone.

Screwen’s a relish, my oath! But the biggest kick,
The icen on the cake’d be if me sheila Gert
Became wun huge cun’ an I was nuthen but prick.

25/10/99
The sonnet is translated into "Strine", the dialect spoken in Australia down to the 1960s.

102 Shagging (Orthographically normalized version)

Translated by Peter Nicholas Dale

What a lather and sweat, the sheer wear and tear of the act!
Cop the jingling knackers as you cram in the bone!
Every frigging thump, by Christ, banged sweetly home,
Till we mewled and huffed and puffed like rooted cats.
 

Glazed eyeballs roll over worse than a frenzied fool’s:
Lips sucking lips, skin that smacks, slips, slaps, and slides over skin.
Come on! Hang on! Cop it! Fuck me! There she blows! wait a min!
It’s knock, push, poke and squeeze, a thrashing of twat and tool.
 

If we’d have kept it up, we’d have had good reason to groan!
Because if we’d skun that game of rooting it’s a cert
We’d have flaked out like stunned mullets, as numb as stone.
 

Screwing’s a relish, my oath! But the biggest flaming kick,
The icing on the cake’d be if my sheila Gert
Became one huge cunt, and I was nothing but prick.
 

25/10/99