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Issue Details: First known date: 2021... vol. 80 no. 3 September / Spring 2021 of Meanjin est. 1940 Meanjin
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AbstractHistoryArchive Description

'We’re living in an information era; we know that. But not all information is created equally. Sitting here in the thick of Meanjin’s 80th year, it seems a moment to wonder at the role of a magazine like this, to think about its place in the spectrum of public ideas.' (Jonathan Green, Editorial introduction)

Notes

  • Contents indexed selectively.

Contents

* Contents derived from the 2021 version. Please note that other versions/publications may contain different contents. See the Publication Details.
On the Island, On the Water, Underwater, Leah Gibbs , single work essay (p. 9-12)
A Light to Lighteni"This blind woman walks in the Carlton Gardens", Marina Connelly , single work poetry (p. 10)
Airbus A330 and the Angels, Marg Hooper , single work essay (p. 12-15)
Australia in Three Books, Tim Dunlop , single work review
— Review of The Vivisector Patrick White , 1970 single work novel ; Dark Places of the Heart Christina Stead , 1966 single work novel ; Mullumbimby Melissa Lucashenko , 2013 single work novel ;
(p. 18-21)
Always Bet on Black (Power), Chelsea Watego , single work essay (p. 22-33)
Journal in May : Berlin 2021i"On unaccustomed feet we enter the Spring.", Petra White , single work poetry (p. 34-35)
September (2015, 2016, 2021), Catherine Noske , single work autobiography

It is September 2016. I take my glasses off to swim. I leave them tucked in the folds of my discarded dress, follow the softened outline of Lucas's body down and into the water. I let it form the world for me. Definition is unnecessary in water; fluidity renders mute any firm lines or clear distinctions. The water has its own clarity, one of light going forever down, and a brilliance of deep colour-Homer's winedark sea. I did not understand the metaphor until we arrived and saw it, this water with its surreal intensity of blue. Luminous, the opulence of wine. Lucas dives and tells me that it just keeps going down past the point of view.' (Publication abstract)

(p. 36-45)
Currawong Days, Rachael Weaver , single work essay
'The Spanish Ambassador came to visit every morning through winter as I stirred the porridge—just before it was time to wake everybody up. Snuffling into the necks of sleeping children, flapping back quilts, tugging at big toes, letting in movement and noise in readiness for action. But this ritual happened in the still part of the day. It was the same every day. First he would flop onto the bough of a nearby Japanese maple; then, with a kind of casual precision, he would fly straight at the window to land on the narrow ledge before bringing one yellow eye, and then the other, up to the glass. He was inspecting me, and I was inspecting him. It didn’t matter how vigorously I stirred the pot—he was undeterred. But if I broke protocol by opening a cupboard or turning on a tap, he was off: back to the bough for indignant preening, or away; gone from the kitchen window until the next day.' (Introduction)
(p. 46-55)
In Lockdown, Remembering a Ruined Abbeyi"Cloistered, I pace", Carl Walsh , single work poetry (p. 52)
The Bear on the Beach, Rose Allan , single work short story (p. 56-60)
Translating the World, Prithvi Varatharajan , single work essay
'In the summer of 2019–20 I worked in the customer service department of an Australian zoo. I was used to cycling to work, gliding past traffic and cutting through parklands in my khaki uniform. But I found myself driving much more than usual. Cycling resulted in weariness and respiratory irritation, as I breathed in toxic particulate matter. Bushfire smoke smothered the city, forcing us indoors. With the smoke settling for days at a time, I relied more on my exhaust-spewing vehicle to get to work. The dark irony was hard to miss.' (Introduction)
(p. 61-71)
What We See, Rebecca Smith , single work essay (p. 72-82)
The Diet Coke Side of the Mooni"I saw an old friend today and then the moon", George Cox , single work poetry (p. 83)
Unidentified Dying Object, Carly Stone , single work essay
'The doctor is talking but I am not looking. I’m watching dust mites mingle in the glow. The doctor is telling me that my bones are breaking down into particles and that these particles are getting swept up by my bloodstream and because of this I am dying. Everybody is dying. Everybody is breaking down and turning into other things and that’s what makes everybody real. Our bodies are an ouroboros: a circling snake eating itself forever.' (Introduction)
(p. 84-88)
The Discovery of Antinous, 1894i"So I joined the crowd of men", Jarad Bruinstroop , single work poetry (p. 89)
Hiatus, Kristian Radford , single work short story (p. 90-93)
The Narrow, Green Land : John Blay's Back Country, Tom Griffiths , single work essay
'John Blay is a humble Australian bushman who is uncomfortable about comparisons with Henry Thoreau, but let me explore the parallel a little. Now in his seventies, Blay lives at Eden on the south coast of New South Wales with his beloved forests at his back. He has spent 40 years exploring them on foot and celebrating them in writing, most recently in his book Wild Nature: Walking Australia’s South East Forests (2020). The book completes a trilogy that began with Trek Through the Back Country (1987) and continued with On Track: Searching out the Bundian Way (2015). Most of his writing is inspired by close, sustained engagement on foot with rugged, wild, untracked bush.' (Introduction)
(p. 94-107)
Memories of Place, Julia Wright , single work essay
'I walked a small track along the edge of the Oyster Harbour estuary almost daily for more than 20 years. I saw the colour of the water change with the sun, the clouds and the tannin that came down the Kalgan River after heavy rain. I saw grey days when mizzle washed all the colour away from water and sky, leaving a dense silence. After storms, I saw sea grass wrack washed up high onto the shore and wrapped around the base of the paperbarks. On winter evenings, I saw clouds lift just above the horizon and a shaft of sunset colour the fishing boat’s circle of pelicans as pink as flamingos.' (Introduction)
(p. 108-113)
Latei"Yet as he lay on the grass", Anthony Lynch , single work poetry (p. 111)
Desert Dreamings and Sheikh-lit, Amal Awad , single work essay
'Powerful thighs. Golden eyes. Black robes. Swords. And fury. In romance fiction, it is not enough to have a set of muscle-toned thighs. They must also be powerful. Eyes cannot be brown, they must glow with the fire of a thousand suns. This is the world of desert dreaming. Of thinly disguised oil-rich kingdoms. Of exotic romance with the bad boys of the Arab world—ridiculously good-looking men with more money than sense. But—thank God—they can be saved by women of the West.' (Introduction)
(p. 114-118)

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Last amended 3 Dec 2021 07:12:10
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