Mr Eliot also caught the Tube
I hear the voice of the Lord
in the shriek of the night Tube
between Highbury and Kings Cross
at speed underground.
The cry of the rails
the cry of A to B.
The man opposite
writes microprint
in his notebook
and mutters.
The announcer at Victoria
articulates
“The—next—train—to …”
compensating for the echo.
Below this I hear a low arterial murmur
the sweet murmur of the city.
By high rise in Pimlico
I count the last five soft metallic strikes
of Big Ben at ten.
At this distance they soak the air
and seem to emerge from all things.
Many will disagree, but World War III is too great a risk to run by involving ourselves in a distant border conflict
Sep 25 2024
5 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