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 ... more »
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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
The Camp Fires of the Past
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.
News of the Sun
The noon is on the cattle-track; the air is void of sound, except where crows, poised burning-black, cry to the dusty ground.
Captain William Bligh
Look for an iron soul to bear the piled anathema of time, to take, without abjectness, scorn of every human rout,
Ship from the Thames
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.
Comments about Rex Ingamells
(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)
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.