Keywords: Poetry
There are more than 200 results, only the first 200 are displayed here.
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ARTS AND CULTURE
- Philip Harvey
- 02 February 2022
3 Comments
I was invited to read the poetry at Eureka Street by Morag Fraser, sometime in the mists. She shouted me coffee at the Chinese place across Victoria Street from the magazine’s Richmond offices. That was nearly twenty years ago. As we crunched on fortune cookies, she popped the question. I’ve been editing poetry at Eureka Street ever since and have only chosen to let go of the job this summer.
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ARTS AND CULTURE
- Jamie Dawe
- 06 December 2021
1 Comment
I own my proclivities and short comings / I own the transgressions of those which have inflicted wounds some unhealed / I own the sublime moments of subjective joy / I own little but I am rich in compassion / I own not the land it owns me
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ARTS AND CULTURE
- Les Wicks
- 22 November 2021
The largest wave is friendship. / Heard stories about seamlessness / that sleepy beast of an upsurge that carries you in / until your fin cuts a channel in the sand. / There are dumpers that leave you gasping. / Will & persistence, how a cold current / can race to your head.
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ARTS AND CULTURE
You’re a scavenger / so restless in your wakings / picking remnants in the hours / thieving at the doorstep / to sleep－this threshold / I turn to your profile / mussed hair dark on grey / we are always touching.
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ARTS AND CULTURE
- Philip Harvey
- 04 November 2021
10 Comments
Although I teach poetry and do occasional workshops, the following is written in response to one such workshopper, new to writing poetry, who in lockdown would message me on social media with fairly open-ended questions about poetry. My answers are written after the wry manner of the Polish poet Wislawa Szymborska; wry, but generally helpful. They are not the launch pad for a new poetics. I have stopped for now at 12 questions, but the questions keep rolling in.
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ARTS AND CULTURE
- Andrew Hamilton
- 26 October 2021
4 Comments
These weekday mornings all is quiet. / I stroll across the highway, / a piddle of cars in the outbound lane, / a puddle at the distant lights. / Along the parkland trail / cowled figures walk alone, / measuring their distance. / From the rise above the railway cutting / Macedon stands burly in the smoke-free air.
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ARTS AND CULTURE
- Jennifer Gribble
- 14 October 2021
8 Comments
Well before the pandemic, the future for poetry’s slim volumes was looking far from healthy. Last November, the threatened closure of UWA Press, one of the largest publishers of poetry in Australia, drew attention to the narrowing opportunities for emerging poets to make their mark.
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ARTS AND CULTURE
- Ugo Rotellini
- 11 October 2021
1 Comment
The neighbour says, So sorry. And sir, / you are the last paesano on this street. / Maria you promised me. I could go first. / Ti perdono, I forgive you, amore mio. / I sit in our backyard under lemon shade, amongst / the hens tomato plants and capsicums. I fall into each / wishful memory. We danced, those ad-hoc strolls / and laughter, you hummed our favourite songs.
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ARTS AND CULTURE
- John Cranmer
- 28 September 2021
In this experience of place and moment / is a knowing of timelessness / offering persistent invitation into a deepness of silence / Silence knowing and living out / the roots of a self-aware becoming / sometime known as eternity
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ARTS AND CULTURE
- Geoff Page
- 14 September 2021
2 Comments
Once again we’re forced to think about the ones who’ve kept us going, doctors, nurses, nurses’ aides, swallowing their fear and knowing masks, however good, can never be sufficient, those who check each other’s PPE, all suited-up as if they planned a landing on the moon.
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ARTS AND CULTURE
- Wally Swist
- 30 August 2021
1 Comment
Stopped at two stones, I languish beneath this vault tarnished with heaven. The tangle of these paths are in possession of my blindness. Nothing is more squalid than my monotony.
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ARTS AND CULTURE
- John Allison
- 17 August 2021
From my third-floor hotel balcony I could reach out almost to touch the mountain. It seems such a good neighbour. When I walk out by the Li River, the mountain follows me, shadowing my footsteps. I watch the river-boats working their ways across the current towards night-moorings, the fisherman homeward-bound with his cormorants.
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