Published in Overland Issue 229 Summer 2017 · Uncategorized From Nonets Stuart Barnes Kindness and the mask of kindness are the same: a kindly man, with blue irony and kindness. Ashbery days with the wrong kinds of changes a kind of translucence a kind of moon The city is a kind of hospice. The people are hard-eyed, kindly, with nothing inside them, Each message is a kind of poem, Thought is all sadness; but night is all kindness: the stars are on high. What kind of father are you Why do I turn from the honey of life to the blood-kindling wine? What kind of creature What kind of weather is risk? ‘from Nonets’ is a cento from MTC Cronin’s ‘LXIV [Your faded clothes flutter like a flag]’, David Malouf’s ‘Epitaph for a Monster of Our Times’, Robert Adamson’s ‘The Flow-Through’, Lee Cataldi’s ‘the simple past’, Jill Jones’ ‘Edge/Past’, joanne burns’ ‘[at 8 a.m.]’, Geoff Page’s ‘The Hospice’, James McAuley’s ‘Envoi’, Geoff Page’s ‘The Lonely Phone’, J Brunton Stephens’ ‘Convict Once’, John Kinsella’s ‘Circus’, Dorothy Porter’s ‘Cold (1)’, Philip Salom’s ‘Two Kinds of Weather’ Read the rest of Overland 229 If you enjoyed this poem, buy the issue Or subscribe and receive four outstanding issues for a year Stuart Barnes Stuart Barnes is the author of Glasshouses (UQP 2016), which won the Thomas Shapcott Poetry Prize, was commended for the Anne Elder Award and shortlisted for the Mary Gilmore Award. Twitter/Instagram: @StuartABarnes More by Stuart Barnes › Overland is a not-for-profit magazine with a proud history of supporting writers, and publishing ideas and voices often excluded from other places. If you like this piece, or support Overland’s work in general, please subscribe or donate. Related articles & Essays 22 November 202422 November 2024 · Fiction A map of underneath Madeleine Rebbechi They had been tangled together like kelp from the age of fourteen: sunburned, electric Meg and her sidekick Ruth the dreamer, up to all manner of sinister things. So said their parents; so their teachers reported when the two girls were found down at the estuary during a school excursion, whispering to something scaly wriggling in the reeds. 21 November 202421 November 2024 · Fiction Whack-a-mole Sheila Ngọc Phạm We sit in silence a few more moments as there is no need to talk further; it is the right place to end. There is more I want to know but we had revisited enough of the horror for one day. As I stood up to thank Bác Dzũng for sharing his story, I wished I could tell him how I finally understood that Father’s prophecy would never be fulfilled.
