A REFLECTION on antipodean rain (or rather rains) - both of which sound more dramatic that the Scottish kind.

The weather-man is Les Murray, the distinguished Australian poet; the piece comes from his Collected Poems (Carcanet, £14.95) .

TWO RAINS

Our farm is in the patched blue overlap

between Queensland rain and Victorian rain

(and of two-faced droughts like a dustbowl tap).

The southerly rain is skimmed and curled

off the Roaring Forties' circuit of the world.

It is our chased Victorian silver

and makes wintry asphalt hurry on the spot

or pauses to a vague speed in the air,

whereas, lightning-brewed in a vast coral pot

the tropical weather disgorges its lot

in days of enveloping floodtime blast

towering and warm as a Papuan forest,

a rain you can sweat in, it steams in the sun

like a hard-ridden horse, while southern rain's absorbed

like a cool, fake-colloquial, drawn out lesson.