Broede Carmody

Elena Gomez Reviews Broede Carmody and Holly Isemonger

A book-length poem can offer the best of two worlds: the thematic and spatial breadth and depth of an epic-style length on the one hand, the delineation of units and fragments via the physical space of the page on the other. The poem can be read as one long piece, but also becomes chunks, giving the reader gentle permission to find their own flow without the designation of titles or sections.

Posted in BOOK REVIEWS | Tagged , ,


I pour a blush of wine into my housemate’s glass. Orange tiles & succulents in jars. Rolling through sulfur is hard when you’re stuck in other muck. There can be too much adrenaline stim. As an example, what will we …

Posted in 102: GAME | Tagged


Post-turbulence I hug the road’s blue curve. Mid-morning melt— lakes twisting other lakes. I am blind to the periphery: you describe rocks, undergrowth, a scribble of trees. A reindeer bows into slush. For the first time in months I am …

Posted in 95: EARTH | Tagged


for Kat Muscat Three years on and your husk-sweet voice so close I could lean back and touch it. Cigarette spirals and eggshell blue. Winter sunlight skidding sideways gutters heave with rain. I am knee-deep in a wide-cut river arms …

Posted in 88: TRANSQUEER | Tagged

20 Poets, a Free Anthology from Cordite Books

The geographic barriers that can, at times, hinder Australian literature are no longer relevant, and poetry communities around the world must be enlightened by the commanding, demanding and exciting trajectory of contemporary Australian poetics.

Posted in GUNCOTTON | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

Introduction to Broede Carmody’s Flat Exit

A first book of poems needs no introduction, being its own forerunner. As a consequence, this note merely states the obvious: that Broede Carmody is a young writer with a great lyrical talent.

Posted in INTRODUCTIONS | Tagged ,

I placed a sprig of rosemary at your feet

Grief is finding bits of Tim Tams in your bed even though you haven’t slept there for two days. I want to move to a place where they will laugh at my dingo accent. Pine needles pressed to cold cheeks …

Posted in 74: NO THEME V | Tagged


for Amber Beilharz We wrestle bone-shapes from sand too quick to crumble. The landscape heaves and trembles at your touch. Air bruising from the wet brush of our words. I pry molluscs from shallow rock pools and you liberate them …

Posted in 61: NO THEME III | Tagged

Postcard from Oulu

You pull faces at a sun that doesn’t quite set. The wind speaks Scandinavian tongues and the trees shiver and sway—hypnotic waltz in the mind. Lakehouses creak in tune with your grandmother’s bones; scent of pine intoxicating every stretch of …

Posted in 52: INTERLOCUTOR | Tagged