Kenneth Slessor

(27 March 1901 – 30 June 1971 / Orange, New South Wales)

Kenneth Slessor Poems

41. Chessmen 4/1/2010
42. A Bushranger 4/1/2010
43. An Inscription For Dog River 4/1/2010
44. Sensuality 4/1/2010
45. Snowdrops 4/1/2010
46. Earth-Visitors 4/1/2010
47. Full Orchestra 4/1/2010
48. Wild Grapes 4/1/2010
49. Cannibal Street 4/1/2010
50. A Sunset 4/1/2010
51. Glubbdubdrib 4/1/2010
52. The Knife 4/1/2010
53. Five Visions Of Captain Cook 4/1/2010
54. Captain Dobbin 4/1/2010
55. Elegy In A Botanic Gardens 4/1/2010
56. Heine In Paris 4/1/2010
57. City Nightfall 4/1/2010
58. Fixed Ideas 4/1/2010
59. Country Towns 4/1/2010
60. City Nightfall 4/1/2010
61. Polarities 4/1/2010
62. Gulliver 4/1/2010
63. Out Of Time 4/1/2010
64. Mangroves 1/1/2004
65. Crow Country 4/1/2010
66. The Night Ride 4/1/2010
67. Thief Of The Moon 1/1/2004
68. South Country 1/1/2004
69. Beach Burial 4/1/2010
70. North Country 1/1/2004
71. Sleep 1/1/2004
72. William Street 1/1/2004
73. Five Bells 1/1/2004

Comments about Kenneth Slessor

  • Luke Perich (7/28/2014 6:26:00 AM)

    Slessor was a disgrace to humanity. He now rots in hell.

    81 person liked.
    36 person did not like.
  • Robert Alexander (11/16/2013 10:36:00 PM)

    I reckon Slessor was a sicko. Slessor was a bloody sicko. Probably got abused when he was still weeny.

    19 person liked.
    54 person did not like.
  • Robert Alexander (11/16/2013 10:36:00 PM)

    I reckon Slessor was a sicko. Slessor was a bloody sicko. Probably got abused when he was still weeny.

    15 person liked.
    46 person did not like.
Best Poem of Kenneth Slessor

North Country

North Country, filled with gesturing wood,
With trees that fence, like archers' volleys,
The flanks of hidden valleys
Where nothing's left to hide

But verticals and perpendiculars,
Like rain gone wooden, fixed in falling,
Or fingers blindly feeling
For what nobody cares;

Or trunks of pewter, bangled by greedy death,
Stuck with black staghorns, quietly sucking,
And trees whose boughs go seeking,
And tress like broken teeth

With smoky antlers broken in the sky;
Or trunks that lie grotesquely rigid,
Like bodies blank and wretched...

Read the full of North Country

William Street

The red globe of light, the liquor green,
the pulsing arrows and the running fire
spilt on the stones, go deeper than a stream;
You find this ugly, I find it lovely

Ghosts' trousers, like the dangle of hung men,
in pawn-shop windows, bumping knee by knee,
but none inside to suffer or condemn;
You find this ugly, I find it lovely.