Evelyn Araluen



Everything I Don’t Know How to Say / sve što ne znam kako da kažem

When I left Bosnia in 2018, my cousin gave me a book of poetry, Bosansko-Hercegovačka Poezija. It’s a slim volume, bright purple with a pale lilac square on its cover.

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Fair Trade: a way to RE/order /imagine /code the world

It was August 2017 and the location was The Tibetan Kitchen on Brunswick Street in Meanjin, Brisbane.

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Decolonial Research Methodology after the Bogong Moth

Supplant. Unsettle. Bury. Return. Learn to live in colonial soil by incubating in every available abundance. Cutworm into crop and field, drink your nutrients from the earth. Swell and wriggle, aestivate in crack and crevice, in fallen trunk and crumbled …

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maar bidi: Carving Sovereignty and Desire in Indigenous Youth Storytelling

Academia has inherited a long history of non-Indigenous people speaking for Indigenous people.

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Andy Jackson Reviews Solid Air: Australian and New Zealand Spoken Word

Is an anthology greater than the sum of its parts? Does it effectively capture its milieu? Who’s been included, who left out? Is it genuinely of the moment? Will it endure?

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To Outlive a Home: Poetics of a Crumbling Domestic 

While these pre-federation tropes of settler colonial Australia’s multifaceted and at times contradictory pastoral modes seem to recognise something of their incompatibility with Aboriginal land, they seek their resolution from burial, rather than reciprocal encounter with Aboriginal presence.

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Tell Me Like You Mean It: New Poems from Young and Emerging Writers

‘Emerging’ is a strange word, and ‘strange’ is probably a cop out. It is often arbitrary, sometimes condescending, frequently empowering and often carries with it an incredible sense of community.

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Wangal Morning

sounds almost mute like earth like blood then heat move in shadows slow given back light measure the measureless once more around time fracture sound half sigh fill sky gather old light from other place when we, new muted you, …

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New Town

in re new place we, facing (one) another the sound of her is almost between us: a foot of hair grown and lost the skin of two summers so much rhythm still crashing from the wars never thought day and …

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decolonial poetics (avant gubba)

when my body is mine i will tell them with my belly&bones do not touch the de or let your hands burn black with your unsettlement there are no metaphors here when i own my tongue i will sing with …

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