For Robert Taylor
Far off, a timber mill saw whines
As my grandfather never did
When his burnt down, but went straight in
To underground mine labouring with
A heart condition at the age
Of sixty-five. The photograph
I have of him—stern, squarely hewn—
And look at when a poem won’t work,
Except as paper to feed flame,
Is adamant with “Never let
The Tree Of Life, no matter how
Perverse and frustrating of your
Desire to carve art from it, get
So much as a squeak out of you,
But dig till what you write’s as clear
With truth as shovel’s shine from use.”
Madam: Archbishop Fisher (July-August 2024) does not resist the attacks on his church by the political, social or scientific atheists and those who insist on not being told what to do.
Aug 29 2024
6 mins
To claim Aborigines have the world's oldest continuous culture is to misunderstand the meaning of culture, which continuously changes over time and location. For a culture not to change over time would be a reproach and certainly not a cause for celebration, for it would indicate that there had been no capacity to adapt. Clearly this has not been the case
Aug 20 2024
23 mins
A friend and longtime supporter of Quadrant, Clive James sent us a poem in 2010, which we published in our December issue. Like the Taronga Park Aquarium he recalls in its 'mocked-up sandstone cave' it's not to be forgotten
Aug 16 2024
2 mins