CONTRIBUTORS

Barry Hill

Barry Hill is a distinguished Australian writer in several genres. He has won Premier’s Awards for poetry, history, non-fiction and the essay, and in 2009 was short-listed for the Melbourne Prize for Literature. His fiction has been widely anthologized, he has written extensively for radio, and his first libretto, ‘Love Strong as Death,’ was performed at the Studio, at the Sydney Opera House in 2002. He is possibly best known for his monumental, multi-award winner, Broken Song: TGH Strehlow and Aboriginal Possession (Knopf 2002)— ‘one of the great Australian books,’ (Professor John Mulvaney) and ‘a landmark event in the history of Australian high culture.’ (Professor Robert Manne). His poetry regularly appears in the annual editions of The Best Australian Poems. Of his most recent books of poems, As We Draw Ourselves, was short-listed for the 2008 Victorian Premier’s Awards, and Necessity: Poems 1996-2006 won the Australian Capital Territory’s 2008 Judith Wright Prize. Between 1998 and 2008, he was Poetry Editor of The Australian. He has recently completed a Post-Doctoral Fellowship at the University of Melbourne. He has been writing full-time since 1975, and lives by the sea in Queenscliff, southern Australia, with his wife, the singer-songwriter, Rose Bygrave.

Himalayan Fire (히말라야의 불)

As you casually entered the gompa —travel weary, a meagre warmth in you too much mist in the lungs— the winter sun hit the sutras. The mountain light, having raised the black frost shafted the night wind south raided the …

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Homecoming (귀향)

You land with gold over the Red Centre still in your head. The road taking you home to the sea is a lizard flattened in the heat. The light does the talking, the light splinters all over the place. Who …

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Old Photo: The Union Buries … (오래된 사진: 조합원이 땅에 묻는 …)

A solid pack around his grave. Good steel to a magnet, the sky leaden with the warmth, somehow, of common ground. I did not know them all but the bulk of them knew me. Their leader told them of his …

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To the God Skype (나의 신 스카이프에게)

The face of the loved one the only face the face which speaks to mine. One leaf curls to the other they fold, in and out To each other’s autumn breeze. Her perspiration, the brow that she wipes her labours …

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The Peace Pagoda (평화의 탑)

You might have just glimpsed the way to write this book: Start with Thich Nhat Hahn’s recollection of Ben Tre the city he knew from which a few shots were fired at American planes that came back to wipe out …

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