Tears
How easily I shed them as a child,
in misery or frantic rage,
impervious to taunts of crybaby,
bawling my grief to the tiny world
which adults have forgotten
and only children know.
Nowadays I lay aside the melancholy book
with merely a sigh, sit stony-lipped
through many a tragic film,
not to mention global disasters
nightly served with the news
at dinner-time. I meet
the loss of friends and loved ones
dry-eyed—albeit numb
with regret.
Almost I wish I had not lost the art
of weeping, lost the feel of warm tears
raining down my cheeks,
that collapse of control,
surrender to raw emotion.
But then I think: what could provoke
the breaking of this lachrymal drought?
And am thankful for
its continuance.
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