Keywords: New Australian Poems
There are more than 200 results, only the first 200 are displayed here.
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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
- Tracey Edstein
- 02 May 2019
3 Comments
I asked Les then what he anticipated at the end of what was for him a very earthed life. Les was phlegmatic — he imagined a reunion with his parents (his mother died when he was 12) but was content to 'wait and see ... we are on certain post-mortem promises after all'.
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AUSTRALIA
- Andrew Hamilton
- 23 January 2019
19 Comments
The sound of the didgeridoo would be heard throughout the land. On each street corners buskers would mark out their patch, playing violins, oud, piano accordion, berimbau, nyatiti, cello, mouth organ, zither, anklung or daduk singing the love songs and epic poems from the many civilisations that have enriched Australia.
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ARTS AND CULTURE
- Ross Jackson
- 14 January 2019
1 Comment
If, when called upon at eighty years of age, I cannot prepare a sandwich, make a mess of my words, I fear that the thought may occur: I have my Seniors Card but I have no legacy, and I have no Torah, I have no Bible, and I have no Koran.
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ARTS AND CULTURE
- Barry Gittins
- 20 November 2018
8 Comments
I am holy, no, to discriminate? But by doing so, I self-incriminate. I doubt the loud denouncing will dissipate before the promised election falls.
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ARTS AND CULTURE
- Jenny Blackford
- 10 September 2018
These days, the military tattoo is just too sad for words, the soldier-children twirling, dancing, fluting, prancing, singing, some with rightful Maori marks, or cheekbones high as Indian hills, thin teenage girls in kilts and fancy Argyle socks ... What have they to do with war or death? Yet men strap bombs on ten-year-olds.
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ARTS AND CULTURE
For days I passed the black screen, berating and blaming the mass-entertaining hooked on a loop, counting down to more incoming footage ... What if we are not seeking ruin but searching the ruins for a hand, battered and bruised, broad-backed, mud-slicked, bent but unbroken, reaching out of the mire to catch a pale light ...
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ARTS AND CULTURE
- John Frawley
- 19 March 2018
4 Comments
We the remnants, largely spent, professors, teachers, beloved practitioners, scientists, world leaders, pioneers, a menagerie of specialists, some honoured citizens, the sick, the grey, the bent, the pill dependent, divorcees, the widowed, the saints, the sinners, bound and equal, together, all as one, gathered again, searching out new pastures, denying mankind's stark mortality.
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