Les Murray

(17 October 1938)

Les Murray Poems

1. Travels With John Hunter 1/13/2003
2. The New Hieroglyphics 1/13/2003
3. Towards The Imminent Days (Section 4) 1/13/2003
4. The Quality Of Sprawl 1/13/2003
5. The Instrument 10/10/2011
6. The Mowed Hollow 1/13/2003
7. The Sleepout 1/13/2003
8. Amanda's Painting 1/13/2003
9. Cockspur Bush 1/13/2003
10. On The Borders 1/13/2003
11. Aurora Prone 1/13/2003
12. Comete 1/13/2003
13. Inside Ayers Rock 1/13/2003
14. The Butter Factory 1/13/2003
15. Flowering Eucalypt In Autumn 1/13/2003
16. Performance 1/13/2003
17. The Harleys 1/13/2003
18. A Retrospect Of Humidity 1/13/2003
19. The Meaning Of Existence 1/13/2003
20. The Images Alone 1/13/2003
21. Bat's Ultrasound 1/13/2003
22. Predawn In Health 1/13/2003
23. Late Summer Fires 1/13/2003
24. Shower 1/13/2003
25. On Home Beaches 1/13/2003
26. Noonday Axeman 10/15/2005
27. The Dream Of Wearing Shorts Forever 1/13/2003
28. Music To Me Is Like Days 1/13/2003
29. The Aboriginal Cricketer 1/13/2003
30. Poetry And Religion 1/13/2003
31. Pigs 1/13/2003
32. An Absolutely Ordinary Rainbow 1/13/2003
Best Poem of Les Murray

An Absolutely Ordinary Rainbow

The word goes round Repins,
the murmur goes round Lorenzinis,
at Tattersalls, men look up from sheets of numbers,
the Stock Exchange scribblers forget the chalk in their hands
and men with bread in their pockets leave the Greek Club:
There's a fellow crying in Martin Place. They can't stop him.

The traffic in George Street is banked up for half a mile
and drained of motion. The crowds are edgy with talk
and more crowds come hurrying. Many run in the back streets
which minutes ago were busy main streets, pointing:
There's a fellow weeping down there. No one can...

Read the full of An Absolutely Ordinary Rainbow

Amanda's Painting

In the painting, I'm seated in a shield,
coming home in it up a shadowy river.
It is a small metal boat lined in eggshell
and my hands grip the gunwale rims. I'm
a composite bow, tensioning the whole boat,
steering it with my gaze. No oars, no engine,
no sails. I'm propelling the little craft with speech.
The faded rings around the loose bulk shirt
are of five lines each, a musical lineation

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