(in memory of Val Plumwood) The sound of crows is known to us for its mournfulness, its insistent black edge to a bright world. There was a day when she stepped into a clearing and surprised crows at their other speech, the cheerful joyous rapture they know from time to time when no one is … Continue reading
Hanging upside down perched in its own Heaven the cricket sings: “I have eaten and am full. This is good.” Does it sing for us? Possibly. If we too have been touched all over by fire If we have balanced for hours on the infinite porosity of earth and know what it’s like to be … Continue reading
Apologising to unicorns is problematic. They rarely understand our purposes. Tenderness will often be seen as the manipulative gestures of a fear that seeks death – for itself and others. Unicorns sleep most comfortably in heavy traffic where the hum of self-absorbed commuters leaves them invisible. To find a unicorn in a forest is like … Continue reading
Laid out flat in the back of the station wagon my father borrowed I look up: the leaves are immense, green and golden with clear summer light breaking through – though I turn only my neck I can see all of them along this avenue that has no limits. What does it matter that I … Continue reading
Peter Boyle was born in Melbourne in 1951 and has lived most of his life in Sydney. He is a poet and translator of Spanish and French poetry. He has worked most of his life as a teacher, first in high schools and then with NSW TAFE. His sixth collection of poetry, Towns in the … Continue reading
