Conscious and Verbal is full of political stories as in the harrowing 'At the Swamping of Categories'; love stories, epithalamiums and celebrations; curious 'Sound Bites'; and the wonderfully fluid rhythmic surprise of poems such as 'Music to Me is Like Days'. The story behind the title poem has to do with the very nearly fatal illness of the poet. When he was declared 'conscious and verbal' it was clear that he would survive, and the work he has produced since then has been described as 'posthumous', illuminated by various previously unseen and wonderfully shimmering lights. He has always had a vision of how things are; now he sees how they ought to be.
without any research Les seems to have been a lovely boy . THis is not the place to start with him, I suspect, but it's what oxfam had to give me. The poems are not in my brain yet, which is my funny way of saying this could be a case of It's Not My Thing. only the issue with that excuse is that you can ALWAYS make it your thing, and I intend to. I'm not here to narrow the horizon
the constructions are CONstructed, there's always a system just behind the poem. In other words , you could loosely collect the modernists into POETS who are letting the words do something and lead them ; POETS who are trying to say a thing with the words about the words ; POETS who speak talismanically, channelling a wider or earthy sense , writing that is neither off-the-cuff nor intrusively designed - plath is good here ; POETS who say I've an idea for a poem about x and then they go and write it. I think les and probably somebody like larkin fits that, (again I say, without any reason or knowledge to back me up ) , so I'm going to be out here , trying again
in other news his poem, not in this collection, THE COWS ON KILLING DAY is incredible & one of the best animal poems ever written and a big recommendation for anyone
Thrillingly dense with nouns. "The Harleys" is worth the price of admission by itself (being one blasting bad-ass sentence that grinds down the page and then is gone). Murray makes stuff up, he probably looks stuff up, he plays games, he winks, he writes what sometimes feels like a journal of his Australian world. I love his love of language.
Les can write. There is poetry in his heart and a love of the bush and it's people> He's a nostalgic writer too. His forays into the politics of race and culture are clumbsy and his mysticism can be just mystifying. But there is stuff to love here, humour and a talent for language.