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Arguably Australia’s most celebrated living author, Helen Garner has built a reputation as a fearless and unapologetic writer whose work has remained fresh and relevant for over 45 years. We sat down with Helen to explore the challenges of confessional non-fiction, her fondness for church, and her commitment to unsparing self-analysis.
But my red carriage rolls its trundling way / beneath the glare of that auroral show, its flakes of rust conceding time’s betray, / the toll imposed on Adam’s clay in slow / extraction of deep veins of anthracite.
With the launch of ChatGPT, my initial amazement quickly gave way to unease and a sense that something essential could be about to be lost. We will need help to navigate such complexity and considering what is essential to our human nature would be an important place to start.
Days shorten, time contracts, as school agendas / rise in gathering waves, break, surge, and cram / into the mind, intruding on the leisure / of swims, beach strolls, and jetty fishing, / and my marvelling at the blithe ease / of the local seabirds at their play / with wind drifts in a cloudless azure sky.
In a recent meeting Pope Francis met the editors of European Jesuit cultural magazines. As usual in such meetings he did not give an address but invited the participants to ask questions. The questions ranged across a wide area, reflecting the different readership and religious culture of the magazines. Underlying the Pope’s responses lay a challenging and coherent approach to the Jesuit mission and to communication that invites self-reflection also among Jesuit magazines and their readers outside Europe.
There is a great deal of commentary about the growing importance of artificial intelligence, or AI, especially in business circles. To some extent this is a self-fulfilling prophecy — if people think something will have a seminal effect then it probably will. But if the supposed commercial benefits are significant, the dangers are potentially enormous.
In all the rush, the crib’s still housed / from last year in the cupboard . . . I wonder / if in all our frantic preparations – beneath the toys, the tinsel, fairy lights / and all the other trinkets, decorations – there’s still within our hearts / and in our whole wide world, in all we plan and do, / even just a minute’s time for you?
so across this bridge of days / lurks a hollowed-out light / picking over the shattered glass of streets / a day when sun / apportions out / this impartial / where the cut & paste / the haste / of swallows is knitting up / all the available light.
Wendy Beckett and Orbis Books publisher Robert Ellsberg exchanged letters on a near daily basis during the last three years of Sister Wendy’s life. What began as a correspondence on saints evolved into a joyful and intimate exchange about the nature of love, suffering and the need for daily grace.
Along the tree lined rural highway / past paddocks where canola gleams / so cars stop for golden photographs / past paddocks where sheep graze / then clumps of darker remnant eucalypts / distant hills wear dancing patches of colour.
Mum had unshakeable graciousness, although her hand executing cigarette / ballet pirouettes put the fear of foreign emulsification in brothy ox tongue soups / Strong foundations based on love, respect and loyalty with times of grieving — an empath for a neighbour or relative
When Kenneth Hugh Gittins is in the room and crash-tackling the conversation, well, eat your heart out Salvador Dali and Walter Mitty. Conversations turn surreal, fact-checking expeditions run aground. A charming teller of truths and tales (some tallish and some Himalayan), this rustic raconteur has perplexed many an audience or congregation and delighted many a grandkid and great-grandkid with his reminiscences.
37-48 out of 200 results.