Keywords: Australian Poems
There are more than 200 results, only the first 200 are displayed here.
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ARTS AND CULTURE
- Paul Hetherington
- 09 December 2019
2 Comments
You don't know the word for butter, so you spend seconds miming the way it froths in the pan. The owner of the shop says nothing. You want to buy their famous pesto, but it's nowhere on display. You speak to other customers, who nod and frown. Eventually you point at fragrant cheese and a melon that smells of ripest green.
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ARTS AND CULTURE
- Philip Harvey
- 29 November 2019
12 Comments
Obituarists sharpened their quills in 2014 when word had it the death of Clive James was imminent. Since then we have witnessed a late flowering of poetry, reviews and articles tinged with mortality that revealed to the last his Twainian flair for journalistic self-promotion, albeit in the internet age. Now the quills are out in earnest.
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ARTS AND CULTURE
- Chris Wallace-Crabbe
- 18 November 2019
3 Comments
Staring toward the stringy picture through a linguistic lens I have begun to see that the elderly magic, deplored by most religions, was a daughter of coincidence mathematically robed in some downright glorious colours.
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ARTS AND CULTURE
- Libby Hart
- 11 November 2019
1 Comment
It's difficult to move in this landscape. Haunted and fragile and tragic, there's no place that is benign. A cursed house, the Greeks might say.
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ARTS AND CULTURE
- Jane Williams
- 04 November 2019
1 Comment
Thank God for Bollywood and daytime TV. For the all night partyers and marathon love makers. For the hash brownie bakers, the nut crackers and pot-stirrers ... the drum-beating banjo-twanging wannabe musicians ... the incense wafting up from the first floor through our bathroom vent — frankincense I'm tempted to think.
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ARTS AND CULTURE
- Jane Downing
- 28 October 2019
2 Comments
The dirt ploughed easily under our bulldozer fists. After rain it was still dust underneath; roadworks were brisk. Kangaroos down from Mt Ainslie pooped in our miniature town, new boulders for the centre of our roundabouts. Around and out — the arteries in the front garden ended in neat driveways bumper to bumper with matchbox cars.
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ARTS AND CULTURE
- Michael Sharkey
- 14 October 2019
3 Comments
The voices of two women in the train up to the highlands rise in volume and insistence ... 'Mother, they're not Germans. I said, gerberas, they're all around the farm. Just wait, you'll see them from the window of the lovely room we've set up for your stay. A field of gerberas in full bloom.' 'And are the Germans all in uniforms, then, dear?'
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ARTS AND CULTURE
- John Falzon
- 07 October 2019
2 Comments
I love reading about the lives of the poets. The ones for whom nothing good ever happened. The ones who were sure that if they did not write, they would surely disappear. The ones who tried to make the invisible visible, and failed; who carried news to this world from another one, as if it were bottles of wine and loaves of bread.
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ARTS AND CULTURE
- Denise O'Hagan
- 16 September 2019
4 Comments
Take almost any street, in any modern city, and we are there. We are the substrata of society, ever-present, the unseen lining, the padding in the crowd. We carry our backgrounds closer than our wallets, effortlessly. Yet they inform our every step.
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AUSTRALIA
- Dustin Halse
- 07 August 2019
7 Comments
Robert Harris' The Gang of One ranges through Harris' five published books and a number of uncollected poems. Early work grows from his occasionally lonely, knockabout life and reveals not only a talent for catching the essence of fleeting memories and perceptions but also a mordant touch that gives edge to memory.
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ARTS AND CULTURE
He proceeded to move in with silence. His eyelash touched her cheek first, then his lips. Only one with an expert heart could get it this right, she thought to herself, as he kissed the right, then left cheek, pressing his fig-lips precisely in the right place.
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ARTS AND CULTURE
- Brian Matthews
- 02 August 2019
4 Comments
Robert Harris' The Gang of One ranges through Harris' five published books and a number of uncollected poems. Early work grows from his occasionally lonely, knockabout life and reveals not only a talent for catching the essence of fleeting memories and perceptions but also a mordant touch that gives edge to memory.
READ MORE