- 84: UNPRINTABLEwith J R Carpenter and Benjamin Laird (submit away!) 81: LANDwith James Stuart and Jane Gibian (submit away!) 80: NO THEME VIwith Judith Beveridge (closed) 57.1: EKPHRASTICwith C Atherton and P Hetherington 57: CONFESSIONwith Keri Glastonbury 56: EXPLODE with Dan Disney 55.1: DALIT / INDIGENOUSwith M Chakraborty and K MacCarter 55: FUTURE MACHINES with Bella Li 54: NO THEME V with Fiona Wright and Omar Sakr 53.0: THE END with Pam Brown 52.0: TOIL with Carol Jenkins 51.1: UMAMI with Luke Davies and Lifted Brow 51.0: TRANSTASMAN with Bonny Cassidy 50.0: NO THEME IV with John Tranter 49.1: A BRITISH / IRISH with Matthew Hall and Sophie Seita 49.0: OBSOLETE with Tracy Ryan 48.1: CANADA with Kent MacCarter and Shane Rhodes 48.0: CONSTRAINT with Corey Wakeling 47.0: COLLABORATION with Louis Armand and Helen Lambert 46.1: MELBOURNE with Michael Farrell 46.0: NO THEME III with Felicity Plunkett 45.0: SILENCE with Jan Owen 44.0: GONDWANALAND with Derek Motion 43.1: PUMPKIN with Kent MacCarter 43.0: MASQUE with Ann Vickery 42.0: NO THEME II with Gig Ryan 41.1: RATBAGGERY with Duncan Hose 41.0: TRANSPACIFIC with Josephine Rowe and Michael Nardone 40.1: INDONESIA with Kent MacCarter 40.0: INTERLOCUTOR with Libby Hart 39.1: GIBBERBIRD with Sarah Gory 39.0: JACKPOT! with Sam Wagan Watson 38.0: SYDNEY with Astrid Lorange 37.1: NEBRASKA with Sean Whalen 37.0: NO THEME! with Alan Wearne 36.0: ELECTRONICA with Jill Jones
- Liam Ferney Reviews Cassie Lewis
- Alice Allan Reviews Watching the World: Impressions of Canberra
- Introduction to Tanya Thaweeskulchai’s A Salivating Monstrous Plant
- Michael Aiken Reviews Dave Drayton
- Owen Bullock Reviews Alan Loney
- Review Short: Holly Isemonger’s Deluxe Paperweight and Jessica Cham’s premium pastoral poetry
- Review Short: Anthony Lawrence’s Headwaters
- EKPHRASTIC Editorial: Poetry that Sees
- J S Harry’s ‘tunnel vision’, Vicious Sydney and The Car Story
- Ekphrasis as ‘Event’: Poets Paint Words and the ‘Performance’ of Ekphrasis in Australia
- ‘Often Said Apologetically’: Merryn Sommerville’s Child of the High Seas
- Tunnel Vision
- Interview with Sidney Nolan (Ella O’Keefe edit)
- Is Contemporary Australian Poetry Contemporary Australian Poetry?
- An Extra Oyster for the Doctors
- John Woodcock Graves the younger [with] Truganini
- APOLLON MUSAGÈTE
- after infatuation—ross bleckner—oil on linen
- Gouache, Sheep Skulls, Fence Bracket
- Anatomy for the Blind
- The Pioneer
- Interior with Figures
- Miro’s Eyes
- Autumnal Cannibalism
- Narrenschiffen, a Collage Sonnet
‘The birds of paradise sing without a needing a supple branch’: Joseph Brodsky and the Poetics of Exile
During his lifetime, Joseph Brodsky – political prisoner, exile, Nobel Prize winner – was virtually unknown in his native, Soviet-era Russia. Following the collapse of the Soviet Union, in the early 1990s Brodsky’s poetry became officially available to the public for the first time in the country, which had hitherto so furiously rejected him. By then already an established poet and essayist in the West, his quick (albeit posthumous) homecoming fame shortly followed, positioning Brodsky firmly in the minds of first-time Russian readers as a political martyr, poet-iconoclast and a major symbol of the Russian dissident literary world.
Love in Contemporary American Gay Male Poetry in the Works of Richard Siken, Eduardo C Corral and Jericho Brown
Gay poets, in the main, are determined to claim difference by questioning orthodoxies that corral issues about sexuality and love − and the functioning of these constructs within an urban, heterosexist reality − issues always pertinent to gay male writers because it is they who must bear the burden of political self-consciousness in a heterosexist world.
Stefan Zweig and Joseph Roth, 1936. Imagno/Hulton Archive/Getty Images The words of a dead man Are modified in the guts of the living. W.H. Auden, in Memory of W.B. Yeats Just around the block from Vienna’s State Opera, on the …
I was out drunk with friends one night in Perth, Western Australia. My father had just died. We were walking home, so to speak, and our path took us past the Church of Christ. At that, I launched myself at the wall of the church, found a toehold and lunged up into the air. I grasped the ‘t’ decal and with all my weight managed to prise it from the wall. The Church of Chris looked down upon us all. I continued on my way home, or rather to here, but not without the occasional somewhat gratified memory of the incident. I cannot help thinking of the sudden appearance of the Church of Chris as a sort of revelation, with something to say about the truth of something. That is what reading Finnegans Wake is like.