Kenneth Slessor

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

Kenneth Slessor Poems

41. A Bushranger 4/1/2010
42. An Inscription For Dog River 4/1/2010
43. Vesper-Song Of The Reverend Samuel Marsden 4/1/2010
44. The Knife 4/1/2010
45. Waters 4/1/2010
46. Full Orchestra 4/1/2010
47. Cannibal Street 4/1/2010
48. A Sunset 4/1/2010
49. Glubbdubdrib 4/1/2010
50. Earth-Visitors 4/1/2010
51. Pan At Lane Cove 4/1/2010
52. Captain Dobbin 4/1/2010
53. Elegy In A Botanic Gardens 4/1/2010
54. Fixed Ideas 4/1/2010
55. City Nightfall 4/1/2010
56. Wild Grapes 4/1/2010
57. Five Visions Of Captain Cook 4/1/2010
58. Heine In Paris 4/1/2010
59. Country Towns 4/1/2010
60. City Nightfall 4/1/2010
61. Polarities 4/1/2010
62. The Night Ride 4/1/2010
63. Crow Country 4/1/2010
64. Gulliver 4/1/2010
65. South Country 1/1/2004
66. Mangroves 1/1/2004
67. Out Of Time 4/1/2010
68. Thief Of The Moon 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

  • Dickbutt Jones (10/26/2017 5:46:00 PM)

    These comments are depressing. But then again, so am I. Turtle rhymes with rape

    3 person liked.
    11 person did not like.
  • 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

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.

Smells rich and rasping, smoke and fat and fish
and puffs of paraffin that crimp the nose,
of grease that blesses onions with a hiss;
You find it ugly, I find it lovely.

The dips and molls, with flip and ...

Read the full of William Street

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;