A Bush Poem Out of Dresden - Part One: German Roots

Feeling way more German as a tourist in Bayern than I ever did living in Baden-Wurttemberg.

I'm an Aussie out of Dresden via Washington, D.C.
And, since you asked, I'll tell the tale of how that came to be.

The bombs they fell on Dresden as my dad was born nearby.
The "good" guys fighting evil,  dropping evil from the sky.
So I wasn't even born yet, but became a refuge
When my father and his family fled westward to be free.

My dad was born in Rathen, which is now an exclusive resort town just outside of Dresden.  It was used by the DDR as an exclusive holiday resort for high-ranking Communist officials.

We are so psyched to be in the town that Opa was born in that we take pictures under every sign saying Rathen.

To think, Opa grew up among these very same houses.

A world away another man was out there fighting Japs.
He was there as Darwin burned, to help those Aussie chaps.
The Yanks, 'tis true, did have a rep - and tendency- to ogle
And, sure enough, his eye did land upon a sheila from Cayogle.

(It's their daughter, born in Brisbane, that I have got to thank.
She's why I find myself in Oz, although SHE'S now a Yank!)

My first few of Dresden.  The Catholic Church viewed from across the Elbe.

Back to the land of Dirndls, Lederhosen, Brats und Bier
'Cause MY parents haven't met yet and so I'm not really here!
'Tis a THIRD man sends his daughter overseas to learn and play.
She comes back speaking German.  And in the family way.

The Frauenkirche rebuilt.  My German heart.  My dad saw it last as a pile of rubble. 

She's young and doesn't get it, what the fuss is all about.
"So many nice American boys," her grandmother, she shouts.
But the deed it's been accomplished and they know it could be worse.
Although my dad's a German, at least they married first!

My kids playing in the Elbe, the same river Opa played in as a child  before emigrating to The West at the age of thirteen.

My mom, she graduates from school.  I'm born in finals week.
And I get my first passport, before I even speak.

So I grow up speaking German, learning English nights at home.
A rootless German Yankee with a tendency to roam.

Oh.  Here I am.  Feeling my roots among the cobblestone streets of Dresden.