A Journal of Australian & International Cultural Reviews, News and Criticism.
I’ve read and admired Ivy Ireland’s three previous books of poetry. This afternoon, simply, subjectively, in five minutes, I’d like to share with you five reasons why I keep reading Ivy’s poetry and why you, too, might enjoy the poems in Tide.
If I had to sum up Carl Walsh’s Tarp Green Light in one word it would be mindful. The work focuses inward, quietly observant, converting memory into the present moment through deep and sustained observation.
Myron’s haiku are sparse, highly disciplined and written directly from his experience. Each can be read as a whole poem, but four of the five sections in this collection also loosely combine to tell stories. The fifth consists of occasional haiku and includes 33 haiku each dedicated to specific friends.
Rapatahana’s focus rests heavily on language – he argues it can be an oppressor and a liberator. Language matters.
Practitioners of meditation are like poets in a few ways. The meditator spends long periods of time studying the contents of their attention, becoming familiar with the patterns of sensation, feeling, and thought that make up the experience of being human. Through this study, the practitioner builds an anatomy of experience, and learns something of the world they inhabit — a kind of sense making.
It’s been amazing to work with Yannis on the poetry in this book and on the reciprocal translations we’ve done. It not only connected me back to the teaching work that I loved but also to Greek culture that I’ve only ever had a toe in, always standing on the outside looking in. I think our work has also connected Yannis a bit more with Australian culture and literature, with writing and writers that he was previously not connected with.
Whether these poems refer to historical events, social issues, the difficulty in negotiating the demands of everyday life, loneliness and isolation, selfhood in adverse social conditions, death and beauty, or even poetry itself, they seem to emanate from the same center: a distinct outlook in life and a distinct way of looking at reality.
It is a sad, but very special honour to be launching this beautiful Flying Islands book: Jill McKeowen’s posthumously published first collection of poetry, Sunday Morning, Here.
Writing and writing in a community has always been central to how Sarah sees her place in the world. I’m more of a lone wolf writer, so I notice it – and am awed by it. The poet’s search for meaning in Sarah’s case is not only for herself but for other people and the world we all have to live in. And she does this magnificently and courageously through both her prose and poetry and her remarkable teachin