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There are more than 200 results, only the first 200 are displayed here.
If only those who send their nation’s youth to war would read Muse of Fire, World War I as seen Through the Lives of the Soldier Poets. It is both homage and horror story. It carries the reader across several fronts – the disparate journeys that led these men to the killing fields of Europe, the blood-soaked chrysalis from which the words of the war poets arose.
The grief of Hamish’s death shaped the words and, slowly, the words shaped the grief. Both shifted a gear in me, and in how the world is viewed. This is natural when an axis is tilted. Some look to grief to be healed, but this, to me, for me, is the wrong word.
Good poetry stops us in our tracks, visited as we are by whatever it is that has stopped the poet in his tracks. This agency may properly be, as in Walcott's case, something stemming from cultural marginality, from a fascination with the dramatic, from an equipoise between the lyrical and the epical, or from the interweaving of all these. (From the Eureka Street archives)
In my part of the world, the earth has begun to awaken from its winterlong sleep. The colours of the day are changing and the earth and its attendant branches of family are blooming into beauty.
Conforming and belonging to a genre, in this case, ‘post-colonial, outback noir eco-fiction’, does not mean that a novel is not worthy. With rich symbolism and lyrical prose, Hills challenges readers to confront uncomfortable truths about Australian history, land ownership, and the inescapable consequences of past actions.
The spiral metaphor ties together 800+ pages of lyrical meditations, environmental rage, and historical reflections from Australia’s most celebrated and prolific poets. With powerful social critiques that blur poetry's lines, Kinsella's work rewards close reading with its deep exploration of our connection to a changing world.
In her new Quarterly Essay Highway to Hell, Australian climate scientist Joëlle Gergis pleads in language beyond the careful neutrality of traditional science-speak: ‘We need you to stare into the abyss with us and not turn away.’
These unpublished treasures of my father’s are sure to strike a chord amongst those readers whose hearts wander among the more hidden byways, as I have discovered within myself.
To be complicit, must you share the same intent? If one says nothing, does nothing, does this signify complicity? Is there then such a thing as an innocent bystander?
'From window and doorface painted in carnival, and / your foxing spirit here for a term / becoming again and again the flambeau it carries, / dear dirty Dublin a thing of fire.' A poem recollecting visits to the Jesuit-run Belvedere College, in the north of Dublin, where James Joyce completed most of his secondary schooling. (From 2007)
An elegy doesn’t need to be written straight after a death... and maybe one’s own death catches up before the obituary we write is published. It might be something like re-arranging modernism into structurally sound lines, or discussing the context of metaphors in poems about London and friendship.
Les Murray once confessed it was his mission to 'irritate the hell out of the eloquent who would oppress my people,' by being a paradox that their categories can’t assimilate: the Subhuman Redneck who writes poems. And therein lies the ‘poem’ of Les Murray: complex, contradictory, sublime, and sometimes ready to whip his enemies with a scorpion’s tail.
1-12 out of 200 results.