In the summer of 2005, I moved from a working-class suburb to an urban area to attend high school. Perhaps driven by a sense of estrangement from my new living environment, the elite class, and my new neighbours, wandering the streets became my favourite after-school activity. Walking, wandering and photographing, the ambulatory state akin to that experienced by Baude-laire's flaneur, served as a shelter to store my nostalgia. From unfinished buildings and damaged spots to scaffolding, I was attracted to construction sites, finding my gaze exploring the roles they play in the urban environment.

We live in a world increasingly dominated by technology, and there are many technological advances that we frequently use about which we know very little. Among them, one we know mostly through metaphor stands out: “cloudification”. Metaphors play a central role in our understanding of the concepts and ideas that present themselves, revealing for the first time something that was already there. In this way, we propose the term mistification as a more accurate expression of the current technocratic/technological status quo for which the terms “cloud” and “cloudification” are used. The proposed term – a neologism – conveys elements of Gothic horror which, we hope, precisely capture the current experience of end-users of the cloud. Using New Dark Age (Bridle, 2018) as a point of departure, we propose an analogy between end-users of the cloud with players in a Gothic horror role-playing game, namely the Ravenloft campaign setting of Dungeons & Dragons. Similarly to players in a Gothic horror game, end-users remain ignorant and helpless against all too powerful technocratic/technological giants and their pursuits. This article adds elements belonging to a horror role-playing game campaign setting to a wider cross-disciplinary discussion regarding human-machine interaction.

Since the 1930s there have been over a thousand recorded sightings of monsters in Loch Ness, Scotland. The consensus of experts is these reports of mysterious creatures (known in Scottish Highlands folklore as Nessie) have mundane or prosaic explanations such as hoaxes, wakes, mirages, misidentifications of floating objects (e.g., natural debris, boats) and known native fauna (e.g., deer, otters, diving birds), opposed to extraordinary or unusual explanations such as exotic fauna, escaped animals from traveling circuses, relict plesiosaurs and unknown or elusive species (e.g., ‘long-necked’ pinniped, giant eel). After providing an overview of the different hypotheses and a history of the search for the Loch Ness Monster – the author of this paper argues a rare meteorological phenomenon might explain some monster sightings in the loch during twilight hours between May and August – reflections of noctilucent clouds (NLCs).

The pandemic that we are still surviving represents a step forward in the process of the ethical disintegration of the State. It is a process that has been going on for a long time, but has, over the last few decades, been increasing, to the point of making even more evident that we live under a regime that we call here one of managed democracy. The legal-political decisions taken during this pandemic have catalysed this process. On the part of the frightened and perplexed citizens, the recurrent oblivion acts, throughout history, as a contributory factor in this process of severe democratic involution.

This edition takes a wide understanding of translation, exploring not only translation practices, but also the ways in which translation can be an impetus for thinking and creating for both poets and translators. The edition explores the practice of translation as an encounter with other cultures or as a collaborative act; it unravels the crossdisciplinary associations made when taking words into transit; it investigates the journey into the self as one’s own languages interact and pull against each other.

Translation theorist Laurence Venuti has written how a translator, in “a Romantic transcendence” can lose “his national self through a strong identification with a cultural other.” TS Reader, 20) Australian twentieth-century poet James McAuley’s reading and translation of the early twentieth-century Austrian poet Georg Trakl presents a significant literary encounter. Cosmopolitan by nature, McAuley, as a young poet, had been drawn to, and translated, the German language lyric poet Rainer Maria Rilke (1875-1926). Few of McAuley’s translations of Trakl are included in his Collected Poems(1971 and 1994); they appear in a separate posthumous collection (1982) and in his essay “The Poetry of Georg Trakl” (1975). This article offers a literary appreciation of McAuley’s translations and his commentary on Trakl’s imagery, prosody, symbolism and world view which McAuley described, borrowing Baudelaire’s term, as “a landscape of the soul.” It considers the hypothesis of translation as travel. Drawing on Harold Bloom’s theory of influence it examines McAuley’s encounter with Trakl in his late work, translations and poetic dedication (“Trakl: Salzburg,” 1976) written after visiting Salzburg in 1973. A comparatist approach traces Trakl’s influence, the discovery of affinities or parallel paths with the earlier poet who might be considered, in Bloomian terms, to be McAuley’s “gnostic double.”

The present paper reads David Malouf’s 1996 novel The Conversations at Curlow Creek as portraying a vivid and realistic picture of events relating to crime and punishment in colonial Australia in the early nineteenth century. The depiction of death penalty accorded to the bushranger Daniel Carney under the supervision of the Irish sheriff Michael Adair in New South Wales thus resonates with numerous historical accounts of incidents that actually happened. The novel, however, does more than only provide accurate historical representation as it also presents Adair as having undergone a rather dramatic transformation in the process of conversing with Carney before the latter’s execution. The paper, drawing on the views of the German philosopher Martin Heidegger, argues that a realization of inevitable mortality, of facing certain death characterizes this change in Adair’s nature and worldview. It concludes by suggesting that Adair’s acceptance of his finitude intimates of a way of being in the world that not only subverts procedures of administering punishment to convicts in colonial Australia but also indicates the limits of polarized identity politics that shapes the country in the present times.

Smith’s poetry asks questions of crime and punishment from the victims’ and perpetrators’ perspectives. In “Mugs” an easy victim reflects on the burglar of his house. In “Rehabilitation” a former prisoner returns to his prison, converted into gentrified townhouses. In “Stitched” Up the boredom, inanity, banality, and a soft pain of prison life is exposed.

Few scholars of Australian history need reminding that Colonial Australia began as a British prison. The detrimental effect these origins had, and arguably still have, on Indigenous Australia is unambiguous. The extent to which this brutal background shaped the modern nation merits re-evaluation. In this issue of Coolabah, we aim to extrapolate and explore the links stretching from the First Fleet, and assess how much of a role this past plays in the building of the modern Australian nation.

An open letter in which the author remembers the various conferences in which he coincided with Geoff and the friendship that the two built up over the years.