an Australian poet, anthologist and critic. His career spans over forty years, and he has published nearly 30 volumes of poetry, as well as two verse novels and collections of his prose writings. His poetry has won many awards and he is regarded as "one of the leading poets of his generation." He has also been involved in several controversies over his career and has been rated by the National Trust of Australia as one of the 100 Australian Living Treasures.
Murray was born in Nabiac on the North Coast of New South Wales, and grew up in the neighbouring district of Bunyah, where he currently resides. He attended primary and early high school in Nabiac, ... more »
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Les Murray Poems
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
Poetry And Religion
Religions are poems. They concert our daylight and dreaming mind, our emotions, instinct, breath and native gesture
Axe-fall, echo and silence. Noonday silence. Two miles from here, it is the twentieth century: cars on the bitumen, powerlines vaulting the farms. Here, with my axe, I am chopping into the stillness.
Us all sore cement was we. Not warmed then with glares. Not glutting mush under that pole the lightning's tied to. No farrow-shit in milk to make us randy.
Music To Me Is Like Days
Once played to attentive faces music has broken its frame its bodice of always-weak laces the entirely promiscuous art
On Home Beaches
Back, in my fifties, fatter that I was then, I step on the sand, belch down slight horror to walk a wincing pit edge, waiting for the pistol shot laughter. Long greening waves cash themselves, foam change
Late Summer Fires
The paddocks shave black with a foam of smoke that stays, welling out of red-black wounds.
A Retrospect Of Humidity
All the air conditioners now slacken their hummed carrier wave. Once again we've served our three months with remissions in the steam and dry iron of this seaboard.
The Dream Of Wearing Shorts Forever
To go home and wear shorts forever in the enormous paddocks, in that warm climate, adding a sweater when winter soaks the grass,
The Aboriginal Cricketer
Mid-9th century Good-looking young man in your Crimean shirt
Sleeping-bagged in a duplex wing with fleas, in rock-cleft or building radar bats are darkness in miniature, their whole face one tufty crinkled ear
From the metal poppy this good blast of trance arriving as shock, private cloudburst blazing down, worst in a boarding-house greased tub, or a barrack with competitions,
Flowering Eucalypt In Autumn
That slim creek out of the sky the dried-blood western gum tree is all stir in its high reaches:
The Meaning Of Existence
Everything except language knows the meaning of existence. Trees, planets, rivers, time know nothing else. They express it
Quotationsmore quotations »
''Some people are born to fatness. Others have to get there.''Les Murray (b. 1938), Australian poet. Independent on Sunday (London, April 15, 1990).
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
(26 April 1564 - 23 April 1616)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
(31 May 1819 - 26 March 1892)
(31 October 1795 – 23 February 1821)
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...