Published in Overland Issue 247 Winter 2022 · Poetry Poetry | log joanne burns dream’s letterhead lies exhausted in the recycling bin someone is so awake to the moment the black opulence of the room at 4am a hello new day screen lights up bulletins of hydrated news beyond the equator to the hinterlands the call for an ambulance: pinch and panic breath hangs like fake asanas as the dawn filters through pull the zip on that pocket cathedral a numerology of banks stands guard a chai t-bag dangles in its water a pendulum of angst that moment of a final moment a rolling stone so kitsch it rhymes with home the moment when prognosis slides towards you along the gleaming river of linoleum adjacent to the vending machine and the donated monet apparitions on the wall your coin is rejected in the darkness of the slot you still crave that salty snack joanne burns joanne burns is a Sydney poet. She is currently assembling a new manuscript of recent works: rummage. More by joanne burns › 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 First published in Overland Issue 228 8 September 202312 September 2023 · Poetry Poetry | Games Heather Taylor-Johnson Days pinch and lately I’ve noticed every time I look in the mirror I’m squinting—maybe it’s a grimace. Without trying I’ve mastered the façade of a Besser block threatened by a mallet, by which I mean maybe the world won’t kill me but it’ll definitely hurt and I’ve got to be ready. First published in Overland Issue 228 31 August 20236 September 2023 · Poetry Verbing the apocalypse: Alison Croggon’s Rilke Josie/Jocelyn Suzanne ‘This again?’ and ‘why now? Why not years ago?’ are the two questions raised in each new translation of a non-English piece of Western Canon. There’s an understanding—of course a poetic cycle like the Duino Elegies is incomplete in English, there are endless new readings—and a simultaneous sense of wounded pride/suspicion: what was missing the last time around? What were you concealing from me? What are you concealing now?
