Rex Ingamells
Rex Ingamells Poems
Glint of gumtrees in the dawn,
so million coloured: bush wind-borne
magpie-music, rising, falling;
and voices of the stockmen calling.
...
Macquarie Harbour jailers lock
the sullen gates no more.....
but lash-strokes sound in every shock
of ocean on the dismal rocks
...
A thousand, thousand camp fires every night,
in ages gone, would twinkle to the dark
from crest and valley in the rolling bush,
from mulga scrub and mallee scrub, from dunes
...
This piece of hardwood, cunningly shaped,
was curved so evenly while piccaninnies gaped
at a Warrior who chipped at it with pieces of flint,
and formed it by meticulous dint upon dint.
...
The noon is on the cattle-track;
the air is void of sound,
except where crows, poised burning-black,
cry to the dusty ground.
...
Look for an iron soul to bear the piled
anathema of time, to take, without
abjectness, scorn of every human rout,
...
Stay, ship from Thames with fettered sails
in Sydney Cove, this ebb of tide;
your gear untangled from the gales,
imprisoned at your anchor ride.
...
Rex Ingamells Biography
Rex Ingamells was a poet and the founder of the Jindyworobak movement. He was born in Ororoo, South Australia. He gained his education at the University of Adelaide, prior to becoming a high school teacher. He also worked as a journalist and publisher’s representative. In 1951 he lectured in Australian Literature at the Melbourne Technical College. Ingamells wrote his prose manifesto ‘Conditional Culture’ (1938), and founded the Jindyworobak movement in that year, in response to L.F. Giblin’s urging that poets in Australia should portray Australian nature and people as they are in Australia, not with the ‘European’ gaze, an article in the Age concerning Australian Literature (February 16, 1935) by G.H. Cowling, and The Foundations of Culture in Australia by P.R. Stephenson. Ingamells was named as a judge of the Commonwealth Jubilee Literary competition in 1951. Ingamells is the recipient of the 1945 Grace Levin Prize for Poetry.)
The Best Poem Of Rex Ingamells
Shifting Camp
Glint of gumtrees in the dawn,
so million coloured: bush wind-borne
magpie-music, rising, falling;
and voices of the stockmen calling.
Bellowing of cattle: stamping,
impatient of the place of camping:
bark of dogs, and the crack-crack-crack
of stockwhips as we take the track.
Neighing of night-rested mounts…
This is a day that really counts:
a day to ride with a hundred head,
and a roll of canvas – that's my bed.
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