Poems appear in current issue of The Blue Nib (Dublin), forthcoming in Event (Canada), Plumwood Mountain, Shearsman (UK) and Stilts, (Australia).


It floods like shame
after a lie

like a bleeding glacier
or blue larva

It floods a motherboard
dropped in water

It floods leaving trees
as heads cocooned
in spider webs

in a crown of thorns
devouring industries

It floods like fire
on a Greek island

It floods in slow mo
when you roll your car

and wait to die
from awe and curiosity

after a Goodbye letter
infection by malware

in the airborne contagion
of Madras Eye     it blinds

in widening capillaries
of the neck, the face

neurones surrender
then forget

shaking loose unfamiliar territory
like happiness

Solastalgia in the Mouth of the Great Vowel Shift
after Robert Macfarlane

Going back to the word zawn             Are there any remains
of that long drawled yawn      as jetsam          from the time

they came    in brigs and barques       to be unstitched       off the Otways?
What words did they use        for splicing           micro granites

in the unfolding of      The Great Ocean Road
It curdles the blood     skimming over            rough sleepers

shipwrecked    under neon       in shop doorways      of a Melbourne street
adrift         in the hummer druze          of 3am

One carries a dog                    for a gun
The parish sprawls                  in case you missed it

We sweat        for the ball       click for a new wife       skid down
the decay chain                       flanked by rift margins           sediments of keratin

where if you listen                  you  can hear the love               or distress calls
of the huia                   a sound fossil                          preserved by two men

Glossy yin black huia             fanning its yang tail
reel to reel      layered in waves          fixed       in crackle and hum

O let them be left, wildness and wet—

a line from Inversnaid—Gerard Manley Hopkins

I am trying to keep my head
but today elegies of
belugas retrieved from
Arctic floes

sand bags over a crashing dam
quietly designed
to stem the rage
of winter on the wane

So             what to do about puddle clay
short-lived lichen        the grey heron
nesting on terminal moraine in full stop

the general thrusting

How to mourn
drowned mountains
drowned spires visible only
at low tide

bells tolling intermittently
across the North Sea                            / summoning/

Terracotta chimneys
from wasted villages

wait        for the return

Last century                /it surprises me to say/
my girlfriend’s nightdress catches fire
/unlike a kingfisher/

her sculpted skin         pink and glistening makes
new topographies neck to knee

She lifts her face away

What it takes
to keep the head above
rivers of mud            cathedrals of grief

The way it is
oceans collide in terraced homes     along sea roads

at the summit of high peaks
leaving  a souvenir tree

disposable hearth                    /from Ikea/
exposed bones on the north face

of women in boots              men like Mallory

stacks-image-81d8b36lipscover_1024x102494dc148c-a74d-4192-b0e3-6e402da6ab3fviking.jpg Maclean Coverwisj front (2)


Poetry by Julie Maclean

Absolute Zero on the 6 o’clock News

Sirenia at the Lido







Julie Maclean



Julie Maclean

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