Tag Archives: Amy Crutchfield

Journal Catch-up 34: Heat 21

Anna Thwaites (editor), Heat Series 3 Nº 21 (Giramondo September 2025)

I cancelled my subscription to  Heat a while back (after Series 3 Number 12), mainly because the handful of journals I subscribe to was getting to be quite a handful. Last September I received a complimentary copy of Number 21 with a note from the new editor Anna Thwaites inviting me to resubscribe. I am grateful for the gift, but since Southerly has revived and Meanjin will soon come back from the dead, I’m unlikely to take up the offer.

Mind you, if you want a conveniently sized literary journal that will introduce you to a diverse range of writers from Australia and elsewhere, including some in translation, you won’t find anything that suits you better than Heat.

This issue has two piece in translation. There’s a fable by Swiss writer Peter Stamm, translated by US-based Michael Hofmann, and a chillingly dystopian short story by Hong Kong author Hon Lai Chu translated by Jacqueline Leung. Heat seems to have a policy of not naming the original language of translated pieces – I’m guessing that these pieces were originally in German and Cantonese respectively. Hon Lai Chu’s story ‘Scrap‘ is available on the Heat website.

There’s an essay by Heat‘s founder and national treasure Ivor Indyk. Always interesting, he offers insights into the writing of Les Murray, Gerald Murnane and Alexis Wright. There’s a short story by the late Elizabeth Harrower, possibly her ‘last “new” piece of fiction … to reach readers’, as her biographer Susan Wyndham says in a brief introduction. Alongside these venerable and renowned contributors, Catherine Kaixin Yu, who grew up in Shanghai, has her first published essay, a richly elegiac account of visiting the dying village of her ancestors.

All that, plus poems by Londoner Alex Wong makes a good reading experience. What gave me most pleasure was a pair of poems by Melburnian Amy Crutchfield. In the first, ‘Nausicaa’, the poem’s speaker is a traveller on Corfu and visits Palaiokastritsa, traditionally the place where Odysseus met the nymph Nausicaa. The poem, in five short parts, is full of good things. I smiled a lot.. I’ll just mention an example of how line breaks can be important in poetry.

Section 4, ‘Taverna’ is quoted n the back cover of Heat, just the first three lines:

In the taverna
we choose the wrong foods
and sweat

That makes sense as a traveller’s tale. We chose something too spicy for our tastebuds. But the poem itself continues after the line break and turns out to be saying something quite different:

In the taverna
we choose the wrong foods
and sweat
over our one chance
to be typical.

It’s not about physical discomfort after all, but about the travellers’ awkward sense of standing out as odd. Or both!

Thanks you, Anna Thwaites.


I am a man of settler heritage who has been alive for almost a third of the time that has elapsed since Arthur Phillip claimed this continent for the British crown. I wrote this blog post on the land of Gadigal and Wangal, and crows are kicking up a fuss outside my window. I acknowledge Elders past and present and welcome any First Nations readers of the blog

2016 Australian Poetry Anthology 

Lisa Gorton and Toby Fitch (editors), Australian Poetry Anthology Vol 5, 2016 (Australian Poetry Ltd 2017)

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This is Australian Poetry Ltd’s fifth annual anthology of members’ poems. It’s neither a ‘Best of 2016’ nor a kind of open mic in print. The foreword says the book aims ‘to recognise and mark the organisation’s vitality and range’. When it goes on to quote G K Chesterton, ‘Poets have been mysteriously silent on cheese,’ it signals unmistakably that a further aim is to give pleasure. It worked for me on both fronts.

There are sixty poems by 49 poets, award-winners cheek by jowl with people you’ve never heard of. There are neat sonnets and sprawling surreal narratives, elegy and sarcasm, poems previously seen in places as unalike as Overland and Quadrant and, the majority, poems previously unpublished.

Here are some highlights:

An opening line, from Jordie Albiston’s ‘³’ (one of three poems by her with that non alphanumeric title): ‘war is divisible only by war’.

A poem I was compelled to quote in an earlier blog post: Julie Chevalier’s ‘waiting with dignity’, which started with a reference to Anne Carson.

A piece of social commentary: ‘On average’ by PS Cottier plays devastatingly with the statistic that in Australia on average one woman a week is killed by an intimate partner.

A poem on ‘the pornography of suffering’: Ron Pretty’s ‘broken’, which looks into the abyss of humanity’s capacity for violence.

A poem that’s affecting for extraneous reasons: John Upton’s ‘On Shoes Encountered in a Museum’, a beautiful poem about ugly history that gains extra force from the fact that John Upton, author of the excellent collection Embracing the Razor, died in January.

A contrarian poem: ‘Why we shouldn’t trust birds’ by Chris Palmer begins with birds’ dinosaur ancestry and ends with parent-approved siblicide and cannibalism.

A poem I’d read elsewhere and was glad to see again: Jennifer Compton’s ‘Two Women’, previously published in Australian Poetry Journal November 2016, brilliantly renders the ambivalence of a relationship.

A dictionary query: From Amy Crutchfield’s ‘Egg’,

What shall the mother of the dead be called?
As widow is to wife,
what of the woman left behind?

Stand-out single line: Brett Dionysius’ ‘Bees Fleeting’ brought tears to my eyes with the line (about bees), ‘They are absconding from the planet’s giant hive’.

Unsettling single poem: Alex Skovron’s ‘Prognosis (1189 BCE)’, in which a Greek at the siege of Troy is convinced that the wooden horse ruse won’t work:

The Achaeans understand nothing of History,
they laugh, carouse, their Horse grows daily more arrogant;
some nights I weep for the fate that I know attends them.

Ekphrasis: Laura Jan Shore’s ‘A Little off the Top’, in which a group of people with dementia responding to an Edward Hopper painting.

Elegy: ‘Walking man’, a tribute to the late Martin Harrison by Brenda Saunders that begins:

He walked this country with the eye
of a newcomer, showed us how to see
close up, take in the sweep of distance
the shimmer on a paddock in drought

Those words, ‘country’, ‘newcomer’, ‘shimmer’, take on wonderful resonance when written by an Indigenous woman about an English migrant.

That is to say, there’s a lot to enjoy here.