Joanne Burns

Joanne Burns's most recent poetry collection is brush, Giramondo Publishing 2014, which won the 2016 NSW Premier's Kenneth Slessor Poetry Prize. She lives in Sydney.


you cup your hands. hold and press them to your face. waiting for something to appear – a voice, an image suggesting what to do next – like a child hiding her face in the warmth of her own hands. …

Posted in 95: EARTH | Tagged


don’t think i’ll hear a fly buzz when i die more likely a voice booming instructions on where to queue for the official passage there being a jam in the tunnel some spirits rushing to cross the river others determined …

Posted in 86: NO THEME VII | Tagged

Lee Cataldi: New Poems with an Introduction by Joanne Burns

In this selection of poems, Lee Cataldi writes in a spare, lean, direct way, steered by an aesthetic of restraint. She often uses internal spacing and short stanzas to re-enforce her measure. A sense of loss inhabits a number of the poems.

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there’s no point to owning a country if you can’t look after your own hair the tv burped the weeks broke up like packets of biscuits we swept through them on the way to the bus stop holidays were full …

Posted in 80: NO THEME VI | Tagged


although we might have chewed on the same page we never lived on the same continent my new revised atlas confirms that i am not of the same stock cube as you i filched those cubes to add flavour to …

Posted in 57.0: CONFESSION | Tagged


world politics gone queasy the oligarch skates through reclaimed savannah in his alopecia jumpsuit, improvisation shrewd as a hoodwinker monk − time to hoist the vinyl archived at the alpine sanatorium, all night jam sessions over lake bassoon; eventually treaties …

Posted in 48.0: CONSTRAINT | Tagged


travel in the paganini canoe and you’ll never become punctual feed that sort of salad to your favorite shark and it will be pissing beetroot, and set off an alarm i finally located your power of attorney doc [so unreadable …

Posted in 48.0: CONSTRAINT | Tagged


the reticent comic sprawls across the numb linoleum considering a loud tennis career pow-whoosh-slam but no one loves me anymore; delphic teapots leak like hushed puppies who believes in loud prophecies these days mountain tops prefer to sleep like blank …

Posted in 45.0: SILENCE | Tagged

it grows on you

you lift a hand to sweep away the cobwebs a rubber spider is about to infiltrate your best eye so entertain it with sweet valentines the people in the park may still be there even if you dare not think …

Posted in 42.0: NO THEME II | Tagged


i. equity bring a plate to the global table brands are set to translate into something more than sulkiness tim tams will soon greet the aurora borealis the farm gate is not as rubbery as it looks the bone density …

Posted in 41.1: RATBAGGERY | Tagged

Ethelred Malley: Soil: A Nocturne

for my late cousin Ernest A bleat of lambs on Junee’s naïve hills, a kind of white foam in the dark; the clash and slam of locomotive carriages: stubborn cymbals of the Gods or an ordinary torment? Such hyperbolic music, …

Posted in 34: CHILDREN OF MALLEY II | Tagged

Custom/Made Editorial

The production line has not been idle at the Cordite Industrial Park on Bespoke Drive. Here are 44 poems that engage with the rubric of Custom/Made in a diverse range of text and articulations – poems that have often been 'made' by employing quirky and sprightly strategies in response to the subject.

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