(27 March 1901 – 30 June 1971 / Orange, New South Wales)

William Street

The red globe of light, the liquor green,
the pulsing arrows and the running fire
spilt on the stones, go deeper than a stream;
You find this ugly, I find it lovely

Ghosts' trousers, like the dangle of hung men,
in pawn-shop windows, bumping knee by knee,
but none inside to suffer or condemn;
You find this ugly, I find it lovely.

Smells rich and rasping, smoke and fat and fish
and puffs of paraffin that crimp the nose,
of grease that blesses onions with a hiss;
You find it ugly, I find it lovely.

The dips and molls, with flip and shiny gaze
(death at their elbows, hunger at their heels)
Ranging the pavements of their pasturage;
You Find this ugly, I find it lovely .

by Kenneth Slessor

Other poems of SLESSOR (71)

Comments (3)

DEPRESSION THIS poem is like so like hard to like write about
I hate this poem so much that when I read it all i wanted to do was put a gun to my head and be free from a world where this poem exists
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