In this short collection, Les Murray celebrates the poetry of the everyday.
embracing your knees in opposition
you show inner thigh, and lift
toe-horn turrets which will grit
the flooring with grey beetle bix.
And explores the temporal rhymes of present and past.
A youth, rusty haired
as I was in my time,
rocked atop a high stool
as he read a book from
the stock he was to sell.
Murray's poems tend to be short and enigmatic, often surprising with sudden turns of phrase and rewarding rereading.
Leaves absorbing light
steep it in syrups down
into the buried world.
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