Paradox
Rain and dark roads brew a black-tea storm:
Waiting—waiting—you do not arrive—
My teacup-storm erupts—your phone unanswered—
Full-scale panic—flashing lights—
Tight-faced doctor—“he was in no pain”—
And always waiting; how can silence
Be so loud? How can absence be so busy?
Nurses rush, police make notes, priest rolls up stole,
And like the cyclone’s Cyclops eye I stand stock still:
An open grave flies past me, and then what?
Then you arrived; you’d stopped to buy a cake.
Relief is such a transient thing. Then anger roars:
“How dare you survive, when I have grieved for you!”
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