Judith Bishop
Judith Bishop lives in Melbourne, Australia, and has studied in the United States and Britain. She is Director of Linguistic Services at a multinational language technology company. Her poems have won many awards, including the Peter Porter Poetry Prize (2006, 2011), an American Academy of Poets University prize (2004) and the Marten Bequest Travelling Scholarship (2002-2004). Her translations from French poets (Philippe Jaccottet, Gérard Macé) have appeared in Australian and international journals. Her first book, Event (Salt, 2007), won the FAW Anne Elder award and was shortlisted for the CJ Dennis Prize, the Judith Wright Calanthe Award, and the ASAL Mary Gilmore Prize. Her most recent collection is Interval (UQP, 2018).
The appearance of a New and Selected Poems by a widely loved and admired poet has all the pleasures of a major retrospective, but viewed alone, without the clamour of a gallery event. It’s in the nature of retrospective to raise the banner of analysis-as-public-spectacle. What does this art mean to us, and how is it unique? The artist’s own words form part of the context for understanding the ... (read more)
There is a shimmering, ludic intelligence to this collection of poems, Philip Mead’s first since 1984. The word ‘comeback’ is apt, with its grace note of gladness for renewed possibilities. Opening any new work, the anticipation is acute: will I be changed by reading this, and if so, how? What might I think, feel, or recognise that I have not before?
The title and opening poem, as in many c ... (read more)
... (read more)
Be our heart’s north,daybreak in our daughters’breath, be the radiancethat listensas we gather for the singingof the wood.
Here is night. Somewhere,to someone, fear is coming:dark calls out the humananimal. Somewhere,in someone, the animalruns forth.
By night the wood sings.In its radiance we findourselves altered.Somewhere in the nightour hearts settleand the breath alone keeps watch.
Judi ... (read more)
after the painting The grey parrot by Walter Deverell, National Gallery of Victoria
The far city must make itself knowneven here in the sitting room andbarred by winter branches. The skyline
with its towers square as pillarsbuilt of blocks could be hereas much as then and there and is
in any case beyond hearing.Long withdrawn from the citythat oversees life to a home
where rapt stillness is a ... (read more)
(Italian, c.17th; Kunsthistorisches Museum, Vienna)
Life breathes in this painting like a child pretending not to be awake,
or a skink metamorphosed to a stone but for the flutter in its flank.
You have to lean and listen for the heart behind the shining paint,
the lips half-open, and the glittering eye.
Velvet of the night. A bald parrot on a parapet watches to the east.
Ships listing on ... (read more)
for Sophie
You are seething; I am worried.We have read the Greek myths.
... (read more)
Pablo Picasso, Vollard Suite, plate 97
Night’s the ground beneath my feet since I learned to walk with you. Scented guide with birds and flowers on your breath,
it’s no earth, but a sea we walk across. These sailors, pulling out from shore, delivered our desertion.
In this new life of mine, my heart keeps coming on its every old error, grassed over
as if natural convexities, the qui ... (read more)
I could say hello to things.Theodore Roethke
i. The hand’s wave, when it comes – formal, yet never once the same, awkward sometimes, sometimes half- withheld – from the sunlight of the brain makes a shadow of intent.
Something alights in the meadow of vision. Shimmering, electric, each datum’s serene in its dance of arrival from the world – each met by the sprightlypas de deux of t ... (read more)