Forms of Freedom: Marxist Essays in New Zealand and Australian Literature by Dougall McNeill. OUP (2024). RRP: $45. PB, 248pp. ISBN: 9781990048760. Reviewed by Dani Yourukova. Lately, it seems like everyone wants to talk about endings. The end of winter. The end of term. The end of the year. The end of the world. The…
Edith Collier: Early New Zealand Modernist by Jill Trevelyan, Jennifer Taylor and Greg Donson. MUP (2024). RRP: $70. HB, 256pp. ISBN: 9781991016768. Reviewed by Jenny Partington. Edith Collier: Early New Zealand Modernist paints a portrait as vivid and lively as one of Edith’s own artworks. Despite working alongside celebrated artists such as Frances Hodgkins, Edith…
Bad Archive by Flora Feltham. THWUP (2024). RRP: $35. PB, 256pp. ISBN: 9781776922062. Reviewed by Hannah Patterson. Personal essays take many different forms. They can be fragmented and vignette-y (see: Blueberries by Ellena Savage and Tinderbox by Megan Dunn), they can border on poetry (see: Bluets by Maggie Nelson), they can lean into argument and…
To go around there is perhaps enough,but once again he has appropriated allthe sleep and now the wind sustainsyour insomnia like the jammed rightpedal of a haunted psychotic keyboard,moaning and wretched and frighteningas it smashes, slashes and gnashesagainst the windward end of the house. You are straining to catch its meaningand it begins to sound…
uproarious pueblo browns and Turkic Qaraqalpaq golds make your irises rampageously gorgeous: your Tongan pa’anga eyes have an unresectable kind of beauty. you are an illuming tone. you look good (my eyes and mouth water) like everything i’ve ever wanted; i sit in the tonneau with you thinking, please say you’ll stay. you’re more precious…
I saw this and thought of—let me know if you need—you must be bombarded with—there’s no pressure to—sending you so much—I’ve been thinking a lot about—actually this reminded me of you and your—you are one of the strongest people I—I am so proud of—he would be so proud of—are you—just bring—please text me when you…
I will stop reading love poetry. I will stop writing love poetry. I will stop having feelings like love and desire for poetry. I will have feelings like I belong in every home in America and if you push me out of a tall building I will kill everyone in my path. I will become hard, and cold. And sleek. Very sleek. Clean…
Now, your job is to turn the scary things sillyIt is exhausting and vaguely patronising Do you know how hard it is to chit chat at a social event while picturing smashing the bowl of your wine glass and driving the sharp stem into your throat? What have I been reading? Oh, nothing highbrow And…
#noragrets flying high # i say put it in my obituary # say thati sold my soul # but never to the devil # i killedmyself and i killed her # i killed my dreams andthey killed me # tell them i blew all the cash on #wishes spending time throwing up # throwing it…
A day of westerly gales,fallen branches, leafage, willy-williesclattering the car’s panels with grit.White wavelets to the left of the causeway.You in the passenger seat, sewing labelson two improv art quilts, the finishing touch.North of Bodalla, two trees down,closing a lane, ours the one moving;a big man in fluoro gear trotting to assess,his ute flashing yellow…