Fiona Wright

Fiona Wright is a doctoral candidate with the University of Western Sydney Writing & Society Research Centre. Her poetry collection Knuckled (2011) won the Dame Mary Gilmore Award for a first collection in 2012.

NO THEME V Editorial

I must admit that I ventured – no, sauntered – into this guest editing position on feet of clouds. Such a fantastic opportunity to peek behind the curtains of one of Australia’s best and most prolific poetry publications was not to be missed, I thought. In fact, it seemed almost too good to be true.

Posted in ESSAYS | Tagged ,

Submission to Cordite 54: NO THEME V Open!

Poetry for Cordite 54: NO THEME V is guest-edited by Fiona Wright and Omar Sakr. This issue will be a glorious miscellany – no theme, no rules, no agenda, (no pants?) – a beautiful ambiguity. We want all of the …

Posted in GUNCOTTON | Tagged , ,

Sweet Potato

My housemate was like, here’s some roasted sweet potato, that’s your treat. My colleague took my jellybeans onto her desk. She used to do rollerskating when she was little. Her Dad’s so fit. I’m trying to be good. I love …

Posted in 70: UMAMI | Tagged

Review Short: Ainslee Meredith’s Pinetorch and Joel Ephraims’s Through the Forest

The two latest chapbooks in Australian Poetry’s new voices series are remarkable because they occupy two very different kinds of poetic practice to equally interesting and impressive ends. Both are playful, and push against the boundaries of form, with a crisp lyric impulse at play in Meredith’s work and an almost psychedelic sensibility animating Ephraims’s collection.

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After Mutability

Perhaps the best cells are the ones we can’t kill off, a persistence of the fittest, although mutation’s always painful. It’s two thousand and fourteen, and I know no-one who has been uninjured. It thinks in me, this shadow. I …

Posted in 61: NO THEME III | Tagged


I just ended that one with the Hispanic boy. I’m always thinking, sexually, mentally, physically, whatever, there’s an end, and that makes it less. Just less. Even if it’s just that one of you dies. It makes it less. My …

Posted in 58: PUMPKIN | Tagged


I. Three days, and I’m already craving sparkling water, each afternoon: sprüdeln, how it fizzes in the mouth. This city will not let me. I stand at the wrong end of queues and think: widerstand, resist, to stand against. This …

Posted in 59: GONDWANALAND | Tagged

Review Short: Laurie Duggan’s The Collected Blue Hills

I’m far too young to remember the Blue Hills radio serial, which ran for an incredible 27 years, or 5795 episodes. But in my mind, I’ve always aligned it somehow with the long-running serial of a different medium, A Country Practice, and the experience of watching on, for years throughout my childhood. Watching fictional relationships bloom and end and change, watching births and deaths, illnesses and weddings, floods and fires and droughts; and now that I’m older, I can still, sometimes, align parts of its fictional time to the timeline that I experienced in the world.

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Bagnier (바그니에)

When their skirts swell in the flouncing water like the thick wave of a stingray, and their hair grows weedlike on their cheeks, and their eyes are as swift as shoaled fish, that’s when I know I’m needed most. Their …

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Terrace (테라스)

for Tara A girl in coral and horn glasses is discussing the relative frequency of her massages and orgasms, and how protein shakes are made from cattle hearts, and how the sniffer dogs might find the Valium in her handbag. …

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We Took Their Zombies

Your zombie calls, and you answer it

Posted in 39: ZOMBIE 2.0 | Tagged

The scissors hissed.

The scissors hissed. it had a calming effect on deirdre, taking her back to her spool-a-day youth the children in dirty blue tunics Mrs Craft, knitted out of wool the wiry hairs pulled out long and thick Fear is in …

Posted in 38: POST-EPIC | Tagged

After Medusa, Newtown

The scissors hissed.

Posted in 37: EPIC | Tagged

Maggie: An Apology

Through all           the little stories heard as emulsive-minded children           on rickety and wrinkled knees, we soaked them in           but never developed, stayed unlit, stayed negative; and Maggie, ghosting darkly           on the edge of my inheritance. The vibrating shadowness through hazy …

Posted in 25: COMMON WEALTH | Tagged