Alison Flett



Introduction to Alison Flett’s Where We Are

Conditional responses to the poems seem not only possible, but necessary. There’s much that slips in and out of light, and Flett’s poems have a zero-sum gaze: where there’s not light, there’s darkness.

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Alison Flett Reviews Sofie Westcombe’s Timestamps

So begins Sofie Westcombe’s debut collection Timestamps, one of the last books to be released from the Five Islands Press traps. At first glance it’s a curious choice for an opening poem, the ethereal New Age tone seemingly at odds with the rest of the collection’s insistence on the concrete.

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Insects

The diagnosis is hard to hear. Dark flames lap the future’s pretty cottage. Knees and elbows smoulder anger. Three streets away a fire engine’s high-pitched gape sounds amongst the traffic. The grasshopper in the bathroom that I trod on in …

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Review Short: Chapbooks by Alison Flett, Louise McKenna and Judy Dally

Garron Publishing’s recent ‘Southern-Land Poets’ collection is a ‘pathway                    trampled with voices’ (Vessel, by Alison Flett), intricately connected by a ‘golden thread/ still hanging from’ the readers flesh ‘like the sharp point of a stylus / forcing its message’ (The Martyrdom of Bees, by Louise McKenna).

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Lucy Van Reviews Little Windows 1 with Jill Jones, Andy Jackson, Alison Flett and John Glenday

The full set of LW1 arrives in the post like a present, a gift-wrapped bundle of square, slate-coloured books. It came to me looking so perfect, that a couple of days passed before I had the heart to a prise a chapbook from under the clear binding ribbon. This situation gave shape to a thought about the necessity of obstruction in order for words to seduce. Some form of this theory of desire continued to occur to me as I read the books’ divergent visions.

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5 Ways to Breathe in the CBD

Listen to the shoes of office-workers counting along the pavement, and your own shoes adding in their numbers. Write it all down as music, the black notes clicking and tapping. High above the multi-storey carparks the sun jellyfishes past. So …

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