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'The failure of the Rudd and Gillard administrations', said Paul Keating last week, 'is the lack of an over-arching story.' Eureka Street poetry editor Philip Harvey believes poets have a role in articulating a sense of meaning and direction that is lacking in politics and the media.
Even your Trinitarian faith .. Can serve as food .. For those of us who blandly lack .. Such nourishment, or at our back .. Hear the vague tread, the clickety-clack .. Of those great stories .. And gorgeous King James Bible prose.
It all takes place because of some geological fault. I think God understands more things than he is given credit for.
As I reflect back now, I can see the difference between Peter's urge to write and my own. My hero was the master of terseness, Tacitus. But Peter wanted to find words, and ways of putting words together, that could unfold the shape of what lay beyond words.
Industrious servant of excellent fame .. You sting to protect the hive, then you die ... Instinct is such an unworthy name .. Which calls a selfless attitude, a lie.
When I met Peter Steele I noticed a spark, a shimmer of wit that almost subverted his serious courtesy. There was a wild mind at work and play, and I would have to run prodigiously fast even to catch at its stirrups. So it has proved: it's been a long, vigorous, and exultantly grateful following.
Some kinds of issue offer themselves like particles becoming waves, where your elbows go in bed, acceleration into a curve, how to draw hands and especially feet, or who was up there before God.
we cannot hear the sound of blood .. nor touch those random victims who .. cry out from the very moment .. when the electrodes are applied
Vincent Buckley's work evolves from the explicitly religious to the exploration of experience. But when individual and common experience of love, suffering, or conflict is treated with such depth of seriousness, the result is much the same.
Chris Wallace-Crabbe is a Melbourne poet, whose most recent publication is the late-modern epic, The Universe Looks Down (2005).
Poem by Chris Wallace-Crabbe
Poems by Libby Hart and Chris Wallace-Crabbe
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