Judith Wright was born in Armidale, New South Wales, the eldest child of Phillip Wright and his first wife Ethel, but spent most of her formative years in Brisbane and Sydney.[2] After the early death of her mother she lived with her aunt and then boarded at New England Girls' School after her father's remarriage in 1929. After graduating Wright studied philosophy, English, Psychology and history at the University of Sydney.[2][3] At the beginning of World War II she returned to her father's station to help during the shortage of labour caused by conscription. It is possibly during this period that she developed her attachment to the land and its people which would influence her work throughout her life.

Wright's first book of poetry, The Moving Image, was published soon afterwards in 1946 while she was working at the University of Queensland as a research officer. At this time she also worked with Clem Christesen on the literary magazine Meanjin.[3] In 1950 she moved to Mount Tamborine, Queensland, with the novelist and abstract philosopher Jack McKinney. Their daughter Meredith was born in the same year. They married in 1962, although he was only to live until 1966.[4] For the last three decades of her life, she lived in the New South Wales town of Braidwood.[5]

With David Fleay, Kathleen McArthur and Brian Clouston, she was a founding member and, from 1964 to 1976, President of the Wildlife Preservation Society of Queensland. She was the second Australian to receive the Queen's Gold Medal for Poetry, in 1992

朱迪丝·赖特是澳大利亚著名的女诗人,她以卓越的文学理论和诗歌创作为澳大利亚文学的发展和繁荣做出了不朽的贡献.全面解析赖特的诗作可揭示她的文艺观点、创作题材、哲学思想及其独具一格的艺术性.而这一切表明,她无愧为澳大利亚文学成熟的重要标志.

"Five Senses"

Now my five senses

gather into a meaning

all acts, all presences;

and as a lily gathers

the elements together,

in me this dark and shining,

that stillness and that moving,

these shapes that spring from nothing,

become a rhythm that dances,

a pure design.

While I'm in my five senses

they send me spinning

all sounds and silences,

all shape and colour

as thread for that weaver,

whose web within me growing

follows beyond my knowing

some pattern sprung from nothing-

a rhythm that dances

and is not mine.