Kenneth Slessor

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

Quotations

  • ''And tried to hear your voice, but all I heard
    Was a boat's whistle, and the scraping squeal
    Of seabird's voices far away, and bells,
    Five bells. Five bells coldly ringing out.
    Five bells.''
    Kenneth Slessor (1901-1971), Australian poet, journalist. Five Bells (l. 124-128). . . Poetry in Australia, Vols. I-II. Vol. I: From the Ballads to Brennan, T. Inglis Moore, comp.; Vol. II: Modern Australian Verse, Douglas Stewart, comp. (1965) University of California Press.
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  • ''These funeral-cakes of sweet and sculptured stone.''
    Kenneth Slessor (1901-1971), Australian poet, journalist. Five Bells (l. 96). . . Poetry in Australia, Vols. I-II. Vol. I: From the Ballads to Brennan, T. Inglis Moore, comp.; Vol. II: Modern Australian Verse, Douglas Stewart, comp. (1965) University of California Press.
  • ''Time that is moved by little fidget wheels
    Is not my Time,''
    Kenneth Slessor (1901-1971), Australian poet, journalist. Five Bells (l. 1-2). . . Poetry in Australia, Vols. I-II. Vol. I: From the Ballads to Brennan, T. Inglis Moore, comp.; Vol. II: Modern Australian Verse, Douglas Stewart, comp. (1965) University of California Press.
  • ''Are you shouting at me, dead man, squeezing your face
    In agonies of speech on speechless panes?
    Cry louder, beat the windows, bawl your name!''
    Kenneth Slessor (1901-1971), Australian poet, journalist. Five Bells (l. 20-22). . . Poetry in Australia, Vols. I-II. Vol. I: From the Ballads to Brennan, T. Inglis Moore, comp.; Vol. II: Modern Australian Verse, Douglas Stewart, comp. (1965) University of California Press.
  • ''Where have you gone? The tide is over you,
    The turn of midnight water's over you,
    As Time is over you, and mystery,
    And memory, the flood that does not flow.''
    Kenneth Slessor (1901-1971), Australian poet, journalist. Five Bells (l. 97-100). . . Poetry in Australia, Vols. I-II. Vol. I: From the Ballads to Brennan, T. Inglis Moore, comp.; Vol. II: Modern Australian Verse, Douglas Stewart, comp. (1965) University of California Press.

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Mangroves

These black bush-waters, heavy with crusted boughs
Like plumes above dead captains, wake the mind....
Uncounted kissing, unremembered vows,
Nights long forgotten, moons too dark to find,
Or stars too cold...all quick things that have fled
Whilst these old bubbles uprise in older stone,
Return like pale dead faces of children dead,
Staring unfelt through doors for ever unknown.

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