Rhett Talley: ‘The Database’
The Database
Driving home from work in slow stop-and-go summer traffic
I crept by what was surely a dead bird melted into the
Hot black asphalt of the shoulder, its soot-marred white
Wings fluttering in the sticky wind as if to regain flight.
I thought, was he a cockatiel, an ibis? Did he perish in an instant?
Or winged, die a slow death on the highway’s edge, next
To the roaring wheels, his companions swooping in bravely
To risk it all, nudge him back to consciousness, as comrades do.
But no; or at least not successfully, and so he remains here for
Me to consider, if at all, in a few frames of contemplation;
And I thought, we will never know his name; nor the names of his
Would-be rescuers nor the names of countless other fallen agents
Of sentience, for every sentient creature, every intentioned and
Goal-directed being living with purpose must surely deserve
A name; and every named thing in this world should be recorded for
Posterity and remembered like you and me in some great database
Somewhere.
Rhett Talley
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.
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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
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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
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2 mins