Judith Beveridge

He has his medley nearly ready. He has pieced together
his own fantasia, even if just from the sound of an owl
regurgitating a pellet of bat fur, a park ranger’s
jangling keys, the creak of cable strain when bored,

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'The Blind Soothsayer', a new poem by Judith Beveridge

Judith Beveridge
Tuesday, 22 May 2012

He tells me a woman more exquisite, more exotic
than any of the luminous objects found in the zodiac,
will come into my life. Yasodhara, I ask? He stays
silent, turns to a farmer and tells him he’ll lose

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Open Page with Judith Beveridge

Saturday, 26 March 2011

Why do you write?

I feel deeply alive when I am being creative, despite the frustrations. I love the challenge of trying to find the right words and turning language into song.

Are you a vivid dreamer?

Some of my dream landscapes have been both the most exquisitely beautiful and the most terrifying ...

'At Rajkote', a new poem by Judith Beveridge

Judith Beveridge
Thursday, 24 March 2011

I had just walked out of the reeds at the confluence
of two rivers. Brown frogs stuck in my hair like gouts
of flung mud, my skin was whip-stitched, lacerated
with leeches. I was walking a path hazardous

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