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Jess

  • Victorian Bushires, 2009

    The fires glow beneath a darkened sky: Some burning still – the flames once more leap high. The bush is burnt, the trees again must grow. And we who lived ...

    • Poetry
    • Dramatic
    1 min read


The idea that a poem was a made thing stayed with me, and I decided then that I wanted to be an artist, not just a diarist. So I put myself through a kind of apprenticeship in writing poetry, and I understood even then that my practice as a poet was deeply related to my reading.
— Edward Hirsch