Ben Walter

Ben Walter is a Tasmanian writer of lyrical fiction and poetry. He has been widely published in Australian journals, including Meanjin, Overland, Griffith Review, Southerly and The Lifted Brow, and was the winner of the 2016 John Shaw Neilson Poetry Prize. His debut novel manuscript won the people’s choice component of the 2017 Tasmanian Premier’s Literary Prizes.


yet with cameras and caps, how diluted this tanker’s oil streaming through wharves, cashed town searching for extremities, habitat of buses; here we are, we are on time. i too have followed the landed coast, prodigal breath thrusting salt over …

Posted in 93: PEACH | Tagged

The Tall Man

the vision has retreated into tamer signs, but for a moment I saw further; when the crowds of street petered into gum gravel and humble lights lifted up their irises of glass, there, an effigy jangled my heart, stalking at …

Posted in 91: MONSTER | Tagged

My Dad and I Are Discussing His Olympic Career

My Dad and I are discussing his Olympic career and I am trying to remember which sport he entered. “None of them,” he says, “but let’s go with hurling.” “Is hurling even an Olympic sport?” I ask. “Of course,” he …

Posted in 89: DOMESTIC | Tagged

The Land as Breath: Can Poetic Forms Be Metaphors for Landscapes?

We are standing in the midst of a football field doubled in size and then doubled again; a great, flat oval of water covered by streaks of green sedge that strike up from the surface like spindly grass.

Posted in ESSAYS | Tagged , ,

Pale and Cold

the kayak is pounding at the rough-torn waves as though demanding to come inside, knocking at the troughs and striving to bash down through that open door, the surface of the sea; churning like a crowd, Alisa thinks with her …

Posted in 82: LAND | Tagged

Mt Frederick

there is a passage in the lee, the lees of the sun; the poor are said to be generous. we’re holding out our feet.

Posted in 69: TRANSTASMAN | Tagged

Another Story

Once there was a raven girl wiping weary towels across the face of spent plates, tuning here and there to my announcements as I hold these colours open, cold bears huddled in the pages and chickens preening their selfishness with …

Posted in 52: INTERLOCUTOR | Tagged

This Wealth of When

suddenly, noticing a lost sixty             hidden in the blue carvings, furrows gaping like fish, frugal             fountain dipping to baptise white faces, roses to itemise and             radishes to task, there, then he is sewn; fingers pool in             drops on the desk.

Posted in 50: JACKPOT! | Tagged

Servant (389)

There are clouds of greying carpets, mounting dishes, filthy climate. You were built by childish dream to fight this future revolution of domesticity. Raw materials mined from Asimov, blueprints from Quantum, partners in luxury. But these figures, circuits, equations… Servant …

Posted in 22: ROBO | Tagged