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There are more than 200 results, only the first 200 are displayed here.
On Remembrance Day, we’re called to confront war’s real toll — not just on soldiers but on civilians, families, and especially children. From WWII’s devastated cities to today’s ravaged Gaza, can we reframe our commemorations to reflect the universal, harrowing cost of war beyond national myths?
Guildenstern and Rosencrantz find themselves deep in conversation on a sunny November afternoon, questioning the troubling climate of modern power. Can reason stand in a world so ready to yield?
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.
If you care about theatre and film and television you should be grateful to have lived at the same time as Maggie Smith. She was an artist of incomparable power and nuance, of tremendous wit and complementary poignancy. The Harry Potter kids are lucky to have experienced such style and know-how and grace.
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.
We should not be surprised at the persistence of gambling advertising. We are confronted by a federal government that appears to be stubbornly protective of certain private interests while wanting to appear to also be concerned about the harm to the community that is caused by the promotion of those interests.
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 an uncertain world, the one certainty is that of change. Much like David Malouf’s idea that we are all exiles, even those of us who never leave home, for this is the effect that the passing of time has: familiar worlds become strange no matter where we are.
I envy the dead / Their vague vantage point / the calm repose, almost smug, Their fail-less future / Their limitless horizon / Untrapped in time. Like you, looking down / From that faded fridge photo, With a kid clinging on either side. / Such a tight entity. A smile like no other.
In a world driven by profit and speed, poetry stands as a quiet rebellion. It honours and explores what is distinctive about human beings – communication through words. And if we dismiss as a waste of time the slower rhythms involved in the writing and reading of poetry, we are likely to discover how time spent unreflectively wastes us.
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.
Lewis Lapham's work was a rigorous autopsy of American culture, exposing the chasm between our pretensions and our realities. With a historian’s depth and a satirist’s wit, he illuminated the follies that sustain our collective delusions.
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