Les Murray

(17 October 1938)

Les Murray Poems

1. A Retrospect Of Humidity 1/13/2003
2. Amanda's Painting 1/13/2003
3. An Absolutely Ordinary Rainbow 1/13/2003
4. Aurora Prone 1/13/2003
5. Bat's Ultrasound 1/13/2003
6. Cockspur Bush 1/13/2003
7. Comete 1/13/2003
8. Flowering Eucalypt In Autumn 1/13/2003
9. Inside Ayers Rock 1/13/2003
10. Late Summer Fires 1/13/2003
11. Music To Me Is Like Days 1/13/2003
12. Noonday Axeman 10/15/2005
13. On Home Beaches 1/13/2003
14. On The Borders 1/13/2003
15. Performance 1/13/2003
16. Pigs 1/13/2003
17. Poetry And Religion 1/13/2003
18. Predawn In Health 1/13/2003
19. Shower 1/13/2003
20. The Aboriginal Cricketer 1/13/2003
21. The Butter Factory 1/13/2003
22. The Cows on Killing Day 2/1/2016
23. The Dream Of Wearing Shorts Forever 1/13/2003
24. The Harleys 1/13/2003
25. The Images Alone 1/13/2003
26. The Instrument 10/10/2011
27. The Meaning Of Existence 1/13/2003
28. The Mowed Hollow 1/13/2003
29. The New Hieroglyphics 1/13/2003
30. The Quality Of Sprawl 1/13/2003
31. The Sleepout 1/13/2003
32. Towards The Imminent Days (Section 4) 1/13/2003
33. Travels With John Hunter 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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