Vale Les Murray, the bard of Bunyah Valley

Following the death of poet Les Murray on Monday I’ve been recalling an afternoon I spent with him sitting on the edge of the pier at Walsh Bay talking about poetry and life, his obsession with words, his bouts of depression, his experience of ‘erocide’ and abhorrence of mobs. We met up after a session at the 2005 Sydney Writers’ Festival so I could interview him for Good Reading magazine, but our conversation ranged far and wide until the sun was low in the sky, well beyond the assigned hour. He was on song, ebullient, overflowing with words. Here’s the story I wrote for Good Reading, August 2005.

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Welcome to my new blog

Welcome to my new blog, where I’ll be writing about books I’m reading, art I’m seeing and other meanderings. My last book (Six Capitals) put me in touch with rich and powerful men and women who wanted to care about the natural world and the wellbeing of people, but their thinking seemed to default to returns on financial investments, profits and economic growth. It was as if they could imagine no other way. I’m partly grateful to have had the opportunity to have gone so deep into the belly of the beast of global capitalism, it was certainly clarifying - and partly appalled that I got lost there for so long. Perhaps I spoke the language of mainstream economics too well.

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