Les Murray

(17 October 1938)

Les Murray Poems

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

The Butter Factory

It was built of things that must not mix:
paint, cream, and water, fire and dusty oil.
You heard the water dreaming in its large
kneed pipes, up from the weir. And the cordwood
our fathers cut for the furnace stood in walls
like the sleeper-stacks of a continental railway.

The cream arrived in lorried tides; its procession
crossed a platform of workers' stagecraft: Come here

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