Sub-Zero
The night is clear. Stars of the northern skies
fly overhead like millions of mayflies
or star-nosed moles. Fenian pokes his nose
in every alpha marking in the snows,
and Stephen Edgar, walking, takes a fall, a small catastrophe, he is so tall.
I hoist him to his feet and brush the snow
from dustcoats. It is thirty-three below.
I limp him in and park him by the fire,
pour him a brandy and put on a choir.
Of course all of this happened in a dream.
Eight thousand miles are not all that they seem.
How did you start, Stephen? With Dylan Thomas? Who was the wellspring of your poet’s promise? Was it a woman? Was it a buttoned bodice
when fumbling fingers first essayed the goddess? Promise me this. After our race is run,
you’ll introduce me to your friend, John Donne.
Fargo, North Dakota
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