James Aitchison: ‘Ingrid in the bush’
Ingrid in the bush
When light of sun fades
The bush softens,
Becomes softer, the translucence
That lit Bergman,
The soft deflected haze of
Eucalypt scented air in lazy
Twilight, the dewy composition of
Her face in wan tones devoid of colour.
The day is closing,
Ingrid is fading now,
Into the eternal evening.
James Aitchison
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