It’s seven o’clock on a newly minted Auckland morning when I step on board the Overlander for the twelve-hour journey to Wellington down the Main Trunk Line. The announcements begin …
Mother and Son (Stuart Barnes)
For thy sweet love remembered such wealth brings That then I scorn to change my state with kings —Shakespeare _ Mid-December 1994. Recently I’d turned 17; my parents had …
Blurred Impressions
(Callie Doyle-Scott)
I wish I could say that I had a plan. But when I eventually decided to say something… it was as if the awkwardness in my gut dissolved and carried …
Eulogy for a Fisherman’s Village (John Smith)
I’d never thought of my father, Len Smith, as an imaginative person. He’d always seemed very practical and applied to the task at hand, so to speak. However, I began …
ABORIGINES, SHARKS AND AUSTRALIAN ACCENTS: On Australian Writing (Jo Case)
At last year’s Adelaide Writers Festival, during a session on The Macquarie Anthology of Australian Literature, an impassioned argument broke out on the subject of Australian writing. Robert Dessaix declared …
What’s Updog? (Helena Pastor)
One night, washing up after dinner, I hear the click of the side-gate. A dark-haired figure lopes past the window and my husband calls out, ‘Joey’s here.’ My body …
Hatton's Hunger (Mark William Jackson)
Review of Stu Hatton’s collection of poetry, How to be Hungry. Bukowski once said “don’t play with madness, madness doesn’t play.” Likewise, don’t play with words unless you know what …
My Father’s Body in Nine Drawings (Francesca Rendle-Short)
1 My father is not yet dead. People who knew him say there is a likeness in this drawing. I can still see him breathing, can you? I still …