umm for my english test tomorrow it is based on the poetry of John Foulcher. I need to learn about how he interupts the Australian image in the following poems

Loch ard Gorge
and
Bradman's Last Innings

I also need the poetic techniques for both of these poems


thank you, Sanj

I also need Martin and the hand grenade poetic devices and the Australian image

Loch ard Gorge

We climb along a weathered cream precipice
look down into the waves,
tide thrust into the dark interior of earth
with a sound like fire uncontrolled
A century ago, there was a shipwreck here. Its gravestones
hump the grass
a hundred yards away-you can just make out their name,
the hammocks of bone and meat
lugged from the sea and dumped in the soil
Sheep and cattle surround the place,
kicking tufts of unconcern
through the sea’s brittle, incessant static,
their heads slung
to the grass,
their teeth locked on the earth,
while, somewhere past the unfinished cliffs,
savage dark fish
are tearing the prey apart, blood phrasing the water
decked with light.

Bradman's Last Innings

Bowled for a duck, you could have asked
for better. . .
From the first, through the years
of Depression, so many came to see you,
forgetting

The dole queues, the homes dull with a
long
democracy. And then the War, women
waiting for their Saturday oval husbands.

And peace. Padded up again, you gave
people
Something the world lacked: rules
to play by, winners, clear white flannels

sharp against the green turf.
But it never works out,
never – four runs short of that century
average, at the last, betrayed by your own
game.

Martin and the Hand grenade

Martin displays the hand grenade, the class pauses
For history. With his father’s bleak skill
Martin edges out the firing pin, indicates

the chamber where the powder went; he fingers
the serrations, bristles with the shrapnel
possibilities. Questions. No – it had limited

power: ten yards, then the spread
became too loose to catch a man’s mortality.
Around the class now. And each boy holds

the small war, lifts it into the air
above the desk trenches: the dead weapons hurls
across mindfields, tears the heart ahead.

$anj