Schrodinger’s Cat
My cat is dead and yet she is not dead.
I am a mite concerned about my cat.
The world is as it is and that is that;
It discombobulates inside my head.
My hat is red and yet it is not red.
If worlds be otherwise I’ll eat my hat.
Pondering darkly what I think I’m at,
My hungry sheep look up and are not fed.
I stuff the cat inside the hat and place
The hatted feline on a waiting sheep.
The esurient ruminant, without a peep,
Begins incomprehensibly to weep:
The criss-cross tracks of tears refulgent trace
Like skittering stars across her stupid face.
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