Glenn McPherson: ‘Winter Refuge’
Winter Refuge
The branch the bird left still shakes.
The shaking agitates
A cluster of forgotten leaves,
These fall.
Sense tells us it was a bird
Although we do not see.
The haughty snort, some call
A cough, of dead leaves
On wet earth twenty yards off
Is an urgency of disbelief,
A freeze-dried flake of helium
Balloon against the celebratory
Noise of another hemisphere …
Soon a woman and child
Arrive. The branch, silent.
Stooping, as if peering into a pool,
Waiting for a millipede to hump through
They will notice in a leaf
The dried blood of a lion,
Penelope’s unravelled weave.
And the boy disintegrates as he grasps
So obviously a home;
So bird-barren solemn,
Caught, which is to say uplifted
In the rare light of a tongue of wilderness.
Glenn McPherson
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